A HartFelt Thanksgiving
by Bob Wright
Summary: A Survivor Series Special.  With the Survivor Series taking place in Calgary this year, Hulk and his teammates spend the holidays at the Hart Mansion-and find the Harts may just need their help in keeping their Thanksgiving bright.  NOW COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

A HART-FELT THANKSGIVING

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This will be the Survivor Series special; while I do endeavor to show the entire card as I did for the Summer Slam story earlier, for sanity's sake, I'm going to relegate all but the main event story to an intended storyette to be published after I complete the primary one.

As you could probably ascertain from the title, the Hart family will feature strongly in this one. I will admit openly that the depictions of them as shown here were drawn in part from Bret's autobiography; if in any way Bret was erroneous therein in describing his family, be it by accident or design, I do apologize to the affected parties, and within the context of this story, the portrayals of the Hart family (including Julie Smadu-Hart) should be considered essentially ficticious even if drawn from real life.

All wrestlers' personas and trademarks are copyrighted by World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, happy Thanksgiving...

* * *

><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

"The temperatures are cooling down, but the action is most definitely heating up heading into the Survivor Series. We welcome you to a Survivor Series special edition of Prime Time Wrestling, coming to you tonight from inside the lovely Calgary Stampede Olympic Saddledome, host site of this year's event. Hello again, Gorilla Monsoon here along with Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan," Monsoon frowned at his broadcast partner, decked out in cowboy attire, "and Brain, I'm wondering, as I'm presuming everyone at home is, why you're out of uniform again..."

"Well partner, they say Calgary's a darn big cowboy town, so figured I might as well fit in, yeeeeeee-haaaaaaahhh!" Heenan proclaimed in a faux cowboy accent, "Here, hold still, I want to show everyone another example of corporate branding."

He thrust a (mercifully unlit) branding iron at Monsoon. "Will you stop!" Monsoon shouted, shoving the iron away, "You're pathetic, Brain, you know that? Anyway," he turned back to the camera, "This Thanksgiving night, the Survivor Series will once again be coming into your living rooms, and this year, the action will be even larger than before, as World Wrestling Federation president Jack Tunney announced last month that, on a trial basis, there will be six members on each team this year rather than the previous four or five. Tonight, we're going to break down the matches for you as they have been drawn out..."

"Speaking of drawing, I can draw a gun faster than you can," Heenan challenged his broadcast partner.

"Oh really?" Monsoon rolled his eyes.

"Watch and learn," Heenan bent his arms over his hips in the traditional gunslinger style right before a shootout in the streets-then grabbed the nearest pen and quickly drew a picture of a gun on a scrap piece of paper. "Bang, you're dead," he declared, pretending to fire the "gun" at Monsoon. Monsoon groaned in frustration and crumpled the paper up. "The team captains were selected just after Halloween; earlier this week, they sumbitted their selections for teammates to Jack Tunney's office, and now each team is official," he continued, "Let us then take a look at each match that has been locked in."

He turned towards the monitor behind them as the first matchup slid into place on the screen. "In our opening match of the evening as planned out, the team captains are none other than the former members of Strike Force, Tito Santana and Rick Martel," he related, "No real surprise there if I do say so myself; given all the bad blood between the two of them since Strike Force imploded, it only makes sense they'd want another crack at each other."

"I don't know what's running through Santana's mind; Martel's more than proven himself the better man every time they'd met since the team broke up," Heenan said firmly.

"You of course overlook the fact, Brain, that most if not all of the Model's victories there were of dubious quality," Monsoon raised an eyebrow, "They will captain the following teams: the Magnificent Matadors, also featuring Tito Santana's teammate in the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection the Big Boss Man, 'Mr. Wonderful' Paul Orndorff, Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake, the Native American warrior Tatanka, and the Junkyard Dog; and the Model's Marauders, which besides Rick Martel himself, Brain, features your man, the mighty Hercules, Razor Ramon, Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine, Bad News Brown, and Sycho Sid Justice."

"And there's no denying that's a pretty good team," Heenan declared, "Rick Martel definitely made some good calls, particularly with Ramon, who has more machismo than Santana does in his little finger, and of course with Sid, who makes it clear to everyone he rules the world."

"In his own deluded mind, maybe. You're forgetting, though, Brain, that the Model's Marauders may well have a weak link in Bad News Brown, whom at past Survivor Serieses has proven an untrustworthy teammate who frequently walks out on his team."

"Those were all misunderstandings; I talked to Bad New Brown earlier; he's much better about working with others now."

"Only time will tell. Our next matchup," Monsoon waited for the next two teams to come on the screen, "features the Ultimate Warrior's Ultimate Warriors..."

"Talk about bad naming, huh; if you need any proof how empty-headed the Warrior is, there's your answer," Heenan chuckled, "I wonder if he came up with that name while looking at himself in the mirror while drunk?"

"That makes no sense at all, Brain," Monsoon rolled his eyes in disgust, "The Ultimate Warrior's team also consists of George 'the Animal' Steele, Koko B. Ware, 'Superfly' Jimmy Snuka, Hillbilly Jim, and the Red Rooster. They will be facing the Rock and Rollers, captained by the Honky Tonk Man, and featuring the Canadian Strongman Dino Bravo, your man King Harley Race, the Magnificent Don Muraco, Adrian Adonis, and Doink the Clown."

"Easy advantage there for the Honky Tonk Man's team; the Warrior couldn't have put together more of a joke team if he tried," Heenan laughed.

"You may be laughing now, Brain, but never underestimate the power of the Ultimate Warrior to make things happen. Of course, extra incentive for the Warrior to do good here; we've seen he's been trying to gain admittance into the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection for some time, and if he does survive this match and do well, perhaps World Wrestling Federation Champion Hulk Hogan will give him a look. All right, after that will come our tag team special. Team number one will be captained by the WWF tag team champions Legion of Doom, and locked in as members are former champs Demolition, the Bushwhackers, the Rockers, and the U.S. Express. The sixth team _was_ to have been the Killer Bees, but as seen on last week's Superstars of Wrestling, _this_ happened after the Bees' last match," he and Heenan turned towards the screen as the relevant footage came up...

* * *

><p><em>"...an easy victory here for the Killer Bees," announcer Vince McMahon related to the public, "B. Brian Blair and Jumping Jim Brunzell looking quite happy at their latest win..." <em>

_"Aren't they always so perky?" color man Jesse 'the Body' Ventura grumbled, "I don't see what they have to be so glad about; they don't..." _

_"Wait a minute, what's this; the Nasty Boys coming up the aisle; what's that they've got in their hands?" McMahon frowned at the sight of the mohawked punks charging towards the ring. _

_"Looks like baseball bats to me, McMahon," Ventura opined. _

_"Turn around, Mr. Blair, Mr. Brunzell, they're...would you look at that; Nasty Boys bash the Killer Bees over the head from behind; what a sneak attack!" McMahon roared in outrage, "Nasty Boys beating down Brian Blair and Jim Brunzell in the ring with those baseball bats...and look at this, here come the Powers of Pain too!" he noticed the giant, facepainted Warlord and Barbarian running in next, "And what's...they've got lead pipes...!" _

_"Wow, Mr. Fuji and Jimmy Hart really had their men prepared, McMahon..." _

_"Powers of Pain on top of the Killer Bees as well, belting them with the pipes; what a cheap shot!" McMahon shouted in rage, "There is no reason for this; this goes beyond sport...!" _

_"What do you mean there's no reason for this? I have the pipeline to backstage; the Nasty Boys and Powers of Pain are probably going to be on the same Survivor Series team, and it stands to reason Blair and Brunzell would be on the other, so they're simply making sure the Bees' team is one team down." _

_"And you really think that's fair when the Killer Bees have done nothing to hurt either the Nasty Boys or the Powers of Pain, Jesse?" _

_"Hey, you win whatever way you can, McMahon..." _

_"Nasty Boys and Powers of Pain continuing to beat down Brian Blair and Jim Brunzell with the bats and pipes; somebody should get in here and stop this right now...!" _

* * *

><p>"I think we've seen enough of that," a green Monsoon turned away from the monitor.<p>

"Well, I think the Bees deserved it," Heenan declared, "They go around putting their bee masks on when it's convenient to confuse the other teams; this is divine karma coming back on them."

Monsoon glared at him. "I'll pretend, Brain, you meant that in a nice way," he said as calmly as he could manage, "At any rate, B. Brian Blair and Jumping Jim Brunzell have announced earlier this week that they will in fact take their doctors' advice and will not participate in the Survivor Series due to the injuries sustained in the sneak attack you just witnessed. Shortly thereafter, we received the announcement from the manager of team captains Legion of Doom, 'Precious' Paul Ellering, that he has in fact chosen a replacement team to take the Killer Bees' place, but will not reveal them until the night of the match."

"There you have it, more sneaky maneuvers by the leader of the so-called world tag team champions," Heenan complained, "Ellering does this all the time; he's probably putting a literal six hundred pound set of gorillas in there to get his revenge."

"He would not do that," Monsoon rolled his eyes, "I've known Paul Ellering for years; he would not stoop to that level. Anyway, as our colleague Jesse Ventura hinted in the clip you just saw, both the Nasty Boys and the Powers of Pain will in fact be on the team opposing the Legion of Doom's team; in fact, the Nasty Boys have been selected as team captains. Those two teams will be joined by your best teams, Brain, the Islanders and the Brainbusters, as well as the Fabulous Rougeau Brothers and the Mega Mercenaries, the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff. The latter might be the weak link in the Nasty Boys' team, I do think, with the Iron Sheik just coming off the three month suspension he got for deliberately hitting the referee in the face with Freddie Blassie's cane at Summer Slam; I think he'll be rather rusty from that long a layoff."

"I think the Sheik got a bum deal there," Heenan protested, "I don't think what happened at Summer Slam was deliberate at all; Jack Tunney's had a vendetta against the Sheik for years, and found a flimsy excuse there to suspend him."

"Oh really, and I suppose referee Dave Hebner just accidentally fell into the path of the cane, which the Sheik should not have introduced into the match in the first place?" Monsoon raised his eyebrows. "Moving on, after the tag team action, you will then see team captain 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper and Roddy's Rowdies, also including Sergeant Slaughter, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan, the American Dream Dusty Rhodes, the Texas Tornado Kerry von Erich, and Tugboat. They will be facing arguably the biggest Survivor Series team ever assembled, the Natural Disasters, led by team captain Earthquake, and featuring Yokozuna, King Kong Bundy, Big John Studd, the Ugandan Headhunter Kamala, and the One Man Gang."

"Kudos again to my esteemed colleague Jimmy Hart; he and Earthquake set out to put together the best Survivor Series they possibly could, and they have; I predict this may be the first time in recent memory that an entire team survives," Heenan predicted confidently.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Brain; after all, neither Yokozuna nor Kamala have really worked in team efforts too often, so they could trip up Earthquake's team in the end. And then, once all that is said and done, it'll be the big main event: the Mega Powers team, to be managed by the lovely Elizabeth, captained by World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan, and featuring the remaining members of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection not paired off on other teams: Macho Man Randy Savage, Hitman Bret Hart, the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith, Andre the Giant, and Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat. They will face in turn the Million Dollar Team, consisting of the remaining unpaired members of the Million Dollar Corporation: team captain Ric Flair, the Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts, the Undertaker, and your guys Mr. Perfect and 'Ravishing' Rick Rude."

"We're all ready to go!" Heenan pumped his fist in delight, "My fellow managers and I have been pushing the Million Dollar Team to the limit to get ready for this match; we've never been more ready, and the Hulkamorons on the other team are going down and going down hard!"

"And I suppose you'd be prepared to_ really_ go the extra mile to make sure of that, am I right Brain?" Monsoon raised his eyebrows again, "That's right, don't think I don't know what you and the other managers of the Million Dollar Corporation do in your spare time."

"So what if I do?" Heenan pouted, "We'd have good reason to, what with Jack Tunney clearly showing his bias for the Mega Powers team by having Stu Hart referee the match...!"

"Ah yes, the announcement by the WWF that Stu Hart, wrestling legend and father of the Hitman, will in fact referee the main event; but I don't think you should worry, Brain; I've known Stu Hart for years, he is a very fair judge of character, and I can guarantee he will call this match right down the middle even with his son across from you."

"So you say, Monsoon, but I don't believe it; it's a grand conspiracy against us...!"

"Too bad; you're the only one that thinks that way, Brain. And that's the Survivor Series matchups for you for this year," Monsoon turned back to the camera, "Remember to call your local cable provider and request the Survivor Series for your Thanksgiving evening. We'll be back in a moment with more World Wrestling Federation action, and wish the best to all particpants in the Survivor Series and that they have a happy Thanksgiving when they arrive here in Calgary..."


	2. Chapter 2

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING...

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking; we are beginning our final approach to Calgary International Airport," the pilot's voice echoed over the intercom of the Air Canada jumbo jet, "Skies are clear at the airport with a temperature of twenty-eight degrees and a chance of frost. "Please fasten your seatbelts at this time and make sure all tray tables are in their upright and locked positions. We thank you kindly for choosing to fly Air Canada and hope we can serve you again."

No sooner had the message died away than a baby's wail echoed through first class. "Oh Roddy," Ricky Steamboat turned around in his seat, "Another bottle."

"Of course; he couldn't have waited the two more minutes till we were on the ground!" Roddy Piper grumbled, straining hard to reach the overhead bin before the stewardesses could reach his section and repremand him, "No, no, the little tyke has to make my life miserable; why did I ever agree to help out with this...!"

Steamboat chuckled softly to himself at his partner's griping. He slid an arm around his wife in the seat next to him and stared warmly at their infant son in her arms. "I'm so glad you were able to come for this one and bring him along too," he told her.

"And I'm glad you were willing to set it up so we could," the lovely Bonnie leaned into him, "We've just been apart too much lately..."

"Hey, Thanksgiving's a family time. Here, Richie, your milk," Piper leaned over the seat and handed the bottle to the baby, "And try and leave Uncle Roddy alone for at least the next five minutes!"

"Sir, please, sit back in your seat; we're beginning the descent," the stewardess passing by advised him.

"Gotcha, Roddy," Hulk Hogan chuckled at the disgruntled Scotsman from across the aisle. The world champion glanced over a still sleeping Bret Hart at the lights of Calgary shining down below. "Lovely," he mused softly.

"Huh?" with a low grunt, Bret woke up.

"We're just about there, Hitman," Hulk told him, "And again, I'd like to thank your folks for agree to bunk us up for the Survivor Series."

"Well, they're always glad to assist any friends of mine," Bret stretched, "I just hope we have enough room for all of us and all of the rest of the family."

"Should, old chap," Davey Boy Smith leaned over the seat behind him, "Didn't get to say earlier before you nodded off, I gave a call before we boarded, and Ross said they managed to make enough room for everyone."

"Good," the Hitman's expression abruptly dropped, "Did he say if...?"

"Not then," his brother-in-law shook his head, "I guess we'll find out when we get there."

He leaned back over the seat. With a low sigh, Bret stared out the window. "Your wife again?" Hulk asked; he had happened to overhear a rather heated argument between his teammate and Mrs. Hart on the phone the other day.

"I hope she comes, for the family," Bret sighed, "I can understand if she's still upset I've been gone so long-that and some of the other mistakes I've made on the road over the years-but I do love her, even if she can be hard to figure out sometimes. At least I hope she'd bring the kids over; I really have missed them."

"I'm sure you do," the world champion nodded, "It would be the same for any of us; certainly is for me on the road from my kids."

"I've been spending too much time on the road," the Hitman admitted, "I want to be with them more often, really I do-but I also want security for them financially, and with the pay Tunney's giving, especially with the Intercontinental belt..."

He slumped back in his seat as the plane gently touched down. "I just wish marriage and relationships were as easy to figure out sometimes as the way our sport appears to the kids, an easy difference between right and wrong," he mumbled softly, "I wish there could just be a way Julie and I could pave everything over and just have smooth sailing..."

"Not in this lifetime unfortunately, Hitman," the massive frame of Andre the Giant leaned over the seat in front of them, where he was taking up the whole row, "But just try the best you can, my mother always said."

"Well that's easy for you to say, Andre, given you're not married right now," Bret pointed out to him.

"Oh well, I still think it's good advice," the Giant stretched as the plane came to a stop at the terminal; he had to hunch over to avoid smacking his head off the overhead bins when he stood up. "Boy, am I hungry by now."

"Well don't you worry, Andre; Mom always has a full meal on the table when I do drop by," Bret's expression perked up somewhat.

"OOOOOOOOh yeah, I dig that, I'm starvin' too by now," Randy Savage stood up in the seat in front of Andre and opened up his own overhead bin. "Yours, my dear," he handed the lovely Elizabeth her own suitcase. He casually walked over to the Steamboats' section, "Mind if I give a...?"

"We're just fine, thank you," a very defensive look crossed Bonnie's face at the request; she visibly took hold of her husband's arm. Savage picked up the message quickly. "OK, but I was just asking," he mumbled, walking off, then stopping to call back loudly, "How can I convince the both of you I ain't the guy I used to be no more?"

"He is actually getting better, honey," Steamboat told his wife as they gathered their items and followed the others towards the door.

"I just can't shake the image of him doing what he did to you before," Bonnie shook her head softly, "No matter how hard I try, part of him will always be that wild-eyed maniac who tried to end your career..."

"Well Randy is genuinely sorry about that now, Bonnie," Elizabeth was waiting by the door for them. The First Lady of Wrestling walked alongside the Steamboats up the ramp into the terminal. "When he looks back at what he was like under Sherri's management, he's just as horrified at what he became, and what he did with Ricky..."

"Well you don't have to wake up from nightmares every single month of Rick rolling around on the ring floor trying and failing to breathe, Elizabeth," the Dragon's bride said loudly, trying to fight tears, "That was the most horrible moment of my life, thinking he'd be a cripple for the rest of his life...!"

"I know; I was walking by the locker room when they gave you the diagnosis, actually," Elizabeth put a hand on her shoulder, "Randy would do anything to make it up to Ricky now; if he needed someone in his corner for a big match, he'd be there."

"And I think actually he has you to thank for that, Elizabeth," Steamboat commended her, "It may be cliched, but I do think beauty tamed the beast."

"Thank you, Ricky," Elizabeth blushed softly. "Can I have him for a little while?" she asked Bonnie, gesturing at baby Richie.

"I suppose it would be fine," a somewhat happier expression returned to the blonde's face as she handed her son off to the brunette. "You and he ever talk about children, Elizabeth?" she asked her.

"Sometimes, and I would like to have one eventually. You're a good one, aren't you?" a wide smile on her face, Elizabeth gently stroked Richie, who cooed softly, "Yeah, you're a great little boy; your mommy's raised you well. Oh and it is nice for you to be here with us too, Bonnie," she thanked the blonde, "It is nice to have another woman around for a big event for a change."

"Down here, you guys; it's this carousel," Hulk called from the bottom of the escalator by the nearest luggage carousel. The world champion was glancing around, confused. "I thought somebody was supposed to be here to welcome us, Bret?" he asked the Hitman.

"That was my understanding as well," Bret looked equally confused, "I'm pretty sure we had an agreement with..."

Suddenly a large figure leaped out form behind the carousel and let out a loud roar, making most of the wrestlers jump in shock. "Gotcha!" bellowed the balding, sharply-bearded man, who let out a jovial laugh.

"PLEASE don't do that again, boy!" grumbled a startled Big Boss Man in the rear of the group, "My heart can't take big surprises!"

"Oh, I don't think he meant any harm, Ray; he usually doesn't," a big smile crossed Bret's face. "Jim, great to see you; I should have known it would have been you they'd send," he stepped forward and hugged his former tag team partner.

"Bret, Bret, long time no see," an equally happy look was plastered over Jim 'the Anvil' Neidhart's face, "I see someone's career's taken off really well," he rubbed the Hitman's bag containing the Intercontinetal belt.

"Just like our tag team reigns, only better; I wish you would come back for a little while; there's still plenty of action for the taking for a stallion like you," Bret urged him.

"Maybe if the situation's good enough, my man. Hogan, good to see you too," Neidhart greeted the world champion, "Put her there, pal."

"Don't mind if I..." Hulk abruptly seized up and vibrated wildly from a sharp electric shock that surged through his arm. Neidhart opened his palm, revealing a hand buzzer hidden in it, and laughed wildly. "Gotcha again; gets them every time!" he almost bowled over with laughter.

"Nice, Jim, very nice," Davey looked torn between laughing himself and reprimanding his in-law, "I see the patented Anvil sense of humor is still in full force."

"Life is meant to live, so I might as well live it to the fullest. Good to see you too, you big strong bulldog," Neidhart hugged the British Bulldog as well, "Diana and Harry have been waiting to see you for ages."

"I can't wait to see them either; it's been longer than I'd have liked," Davey confessed. "Harry'll be glad to see all of you as well," he told his teammates, "He wants to wrestle professionally too some day."

"Well, if we can give him any tips on how to better himself, we'd be glad to help," Hulk declared as the siren signalling the activation of the carousel and the arrival of their luggage rang out. The carousel sprung to life, and the first suitcases tumbled down the chute to be picked up. Bret slided alongside his other brother-in-law while everyone was distracted. "Julie...?" he asked softly.

"Uh, good news and bad news there, pal..."

"All right, bad news first, then," the Hitman sighed.

"Bad news is, no; she went back to Regina to spend the holiday with her sister, and was really emphatic about it," the Anvil shook his head, "But the good news, your dad convinced her to leave the kids for Thanksgiving."

"That is good," Bret managed a small sigh of relief, "They keep me going, after all. And this'll be good for them, too; Dallas has been asking me to let him meet the rest of the Connection for the longest time, and Jade's Elizabeth's biggest fan in all of Canada; this'll be a dream come true for them. Still, I wish it could be all of us together..."

"Well look at it this way, old chap," Davey had been listening in as well, "Given what Tom put Michelle through during the last year or so of their marriage, I think she would kind of need Julie a little more right now."

"I suppose," Bret conceded, "And certainly it is good that Julie has been there to help Michelle through what has to be a really rough stretch for her." He shook his head softly. "If I'd have known Tom would have gone that crazy and threatened to kill her and her kids, I never would have signed off on the two of them marrying, I really wouldn't have. I suppose that's part of what's got Julie worked up as well, that her favorite sister ended up having to live in fear like that, and I failed to see the danger because I only saw the good side of Tom until it was too late..."

"I guess I made that mistake too, Bret, so don't feel too bad; looking back, I sometimes wonder how Tom and I could ever have been related," Davey shook his own head, "I guess that injury in Hamilton that crippled him just snapped something upstairs."

"Oh well, what is is," Neidhart shrugged, turning towards the carousel. "Well, Tito Santana, what a surprise," he remarked, having noticed him picking up a suitcase nearby, "The last time I saw you, you were leaping in the air in delight as I submitted to Martel's Boston Crab to give you the tag team titles."

"That was one of my best moments, Anvil," Tito smiled at the memory, "I'm surprised you gave up so quickly, though."

"Well, your pal Martel-I guess it's former pal now-really knew how to pour the Crab on to make someone scream. It's no wonder he went off the deep end too, really..."

"Are you talking about me, you overweight, washed-up buffoon?" sneered a French-accented voice from behind him. All eyes turned towards the sharply-dressed man with the slicked-back hair carrying a large pink atomizer. "Well, well, Chico the freak-o, we meet again," Rick Martel stepped arrogantly towards his former tag team partner, "And looking no better, I must say."

"I could say the same for you, Rick; ever day and in every way, you keep getting uglier and uglier and farther from the man I knew," Tito said stoically, but with the pain of the failed partnership visible on his face.

"I'm not the ugly one, you pitiful and likely illegal alien," Martel leaned in Tito's face, "If you value your health, don't EVER call me, the Model, ugly!"

"All right, Martel, we won't call you ugly," Neidhart agreed, "But just don't smoke after you leave the airport; a badly misplaced spark'll light up all the motor oil that spilled onto your scalp."

He laughed loudly again-then had to quickly duck as a steamed Martel spun and quickly fired a blast of Arrogance mist from the atomizer right towards his face. "All right, that's enough, Rick!" Tito stormed into his path to prevent a second blast, "If you can't take a joke...!"

"Joke? I suppose that's what you still think that cheap shot you pulled on me at Wrestlemania was too!" Martel bellowed in his former partner's face.

"It was an accident, Rick, I've told you that at least seventeen times; I really didn't see you there...!"

"And I don't buy that!" Martel thundered, "You were jealous of me from the day we founded Strike Force; you knew I was so much better than you, and you couldn't stand it; you were just waiting for the right moment to attack me, and that was it! Well, in a way, I do thank you, Santana; you freed me from such trivial matters as teaming with an inferior partner. You allowed me to just be me, to become the Model, the man all women would kill to go out with."

"If they were completely blind, that is," Neidhart cracked to Bret, then ducked another blast of Arrogance. "I am getting rather tired of your irritating insults, Mr. Neidhart!" Martel shouted at him, "In fact, I think you need to be taught a good hard lesson, just like Chico the freak-o. Boys," he called to the knot of men by the nearest carousel, "I would like your assistance in teaching these gentlemen a lesson."

"Come on, Martel, we don't want to fight you or your team," Bret said wearily.

"Well it's too late now, Hitman; boys," Martel acknowledged the rest of the Model's Marauders gathering around him: wild-bearded, wild-eyed Hercules with his long chain hanging around his neck; slick Razor Ramon, casually twisting the toothpick between his teeth with one hand and fingering the mountain of gold jewelry around his neck with the other; the heavy brawling Hammer, pounding his fists hard, eager for a fight; stone-faced Bad News Brown, with pure hatred in his eyes as he glared the Harts and Tito down; and the psychotic-looking Sid, backed up by his manager Dr. Harvey Whippleman. "Teach these irritating lice a lesson they'll never forget," the Model ordered them.

"All right, all right," Hulk came rushing over and stepped between the two parties, "Call it off, Martel, there's a time and a place for..."

"Stay out of this, Hogan!" Sid ordered him, cold fury on his face, "I still have to fix you too, you know!"

"Look, Sid, would you just let the Rumble go?" the champ said, exasperated, "I've said I didn't mean to...!"

In a flash, Sid seized Whippleman's doctor's bag and brought it down hard on Hulk's head. This was the cue for the Model's Marauders to rush forward and start pounding away on the champion and the Harts. In the midst of it all, Tito cried out as Valentine slapped the Figure Four Leglock on him. "See, smart guy, THIS is how you do the Figure Four!" the Hammer taunted him, pulling hard.

"And don't forget, _chico_, you are nothing compared to us, or me," Ramon sneered, stomping hard on Tito's chest, "Tomorrow night, _chico_, you will see that I am the one with machismo, not you."

He flicked his toothpick contemptously in Tito's face just as the Boss Man came running up with a boatload of aiport security officials. "Break it up, all of you!" the former prison guard roared, pulling Hercules off Neidhart and flinging him face first into the carousel, "Save it for in the ring tomorrow night!"

"Yeah, break it up!" another officer strained to pull Sid's hands off Hulk's throat, "We don't want any trouble in our airport!"

"We weren't causing trouble officer; they started it, they attacked..." Martel trailed off at the sight of Andre approaching as backup, looking mad. "We were just leaving anyway," the Model said quickly, "Come on boys, let us leave these losers and..."

"Don't you touch me!" Bad News roared in his team captain's face when Martel innocently patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bad News, I forgot you don't like anyone touching you," Martel apologized, leading them away from the carousel.

"You'd better remember, pretty boy, if you value your life!" the Harlem street fighter warned him angrily, "I ain't your partner, I ain't your teammate, and I ain't your friend; I'm only putting up with you and everyone else here because I hate everyone on Santana's team more, and you'd better not think for one minute that I...!"

The rest of his rantings were lost as the Model's Marauders disappeared around the corner. "I hate those guys, I really do," the Boss Man grumbled, helping Tito up, "It'll be a real pleasure to beat the tar out of them all tomorrow night!"

"Get a few kicks in for me, then," Neidhart told him. "OK, everyone set?" he asked the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, now with their luggage in hand (Davey now picking up Mathilda's carrying case, the last piece, off the carouse)l. "OK, we've got the big Stampede shuttle out front for all of you," the Anvil waved them all to follow him. He leaned close to Bret as they went through the door and added, "On a brighter note, Owen's back from Japan too."

"That is good," Bret's face did light up.

"Well, sort of," Neidhart's face contorted a bit, "Inoki fired him; said he didn't have what it took to make it big; he's kind of bent out of shape over it."

"Well I'll have a word with him," the Hitman declared, "I don't care what anyone says, Owen's the best wrestler in the family, even better than me, and no one puts him down like that..."


	3. Chapter 3

"...I don't care if all the penthouse suites are booked; I'm the Million Dollar Man, and I only stay at the very best of places, and given you run the most expensive hotel in Calgary, I have to stay with you," a frustrated Ted DiBiase barked over the phone inside his million dollar private jet as it began the descent into Calgary International Airport, "So I want you to kick everyone in them out this minute; my teammates and I need those suites more than those peons do. Well then, I do believe ten million dollars is your price for the Million Dollar Man...oh I know it, buster, because if it isn't your price, I'm going have your hotel permanently closed first thing in the morning and make sure you and every other employee never holds another job as long as you live...that's more like it. Now, while you're throwing everyone in my suites to the curb, I also want limousines for myself and my teammates at the terminal, ready to go; I want unlimited bar tabs and room service; I want every single demand during our stay met promptly and efficiently. Don't feel bad; everyone has a price for the Million Dollar Man, and this was just yours. Have a good evening."

He let out a loud laugh as he hung up. "We're in the money, Virgil; penthouse suites with unlimited room service all throughout the Thanksgiving weekend," he bragged to his bodyguard across the aisle.

There came the sound of throwing up from the rear compartment. "Now come on Jimmy, you've flown so many times before, this shouldn't be a problem anymore!" Freddie Blassie could be heard berating Jimmy Hart.

"I can't help it, Freddie; the slightest bit of turbulance sends..." the Mouth of the South retched and could be heard throwing up again. DiBiase shook his head. "Sometimes I have to manage him, Virgil," he confided in the bodyguard, "But of course, I have the money, so I can do whatever I want."

Virgil merely nodded in agreement and returned to his bodybuilding magazine. About three minutes later, the jet touched down and taxied to a stop. "All ashore," the Million Dollar Man called into the back of the jet, skipping down the steps to the tarmac. "O Canada, frozen wasteland of no opprtunity," he mumbled, glancing contemptously around the airport, "It'll be a pleasure putting that all-Canadian so-called hero Bret Hart in his place tomorrow night, Virgil; teach him a lesson that everything his country stands for, niceness and cooperation, is worth absolutely zip in the real world compared to the power of the almight dollar."

"I just wish that dope Tunney had chosen a warmer place for the Survivor Series," the Iron Sheik shivered intensely as he stepped down to the tarmac, "I hate cold weather climates!"

"Maybe you do, Comrade Sheik, but I love it," Nikolai Volkoff inhaled the crisp autumn air deeply, "Is just like sweet November night in Leningrad."

"Nice, now will you move that fat rump so the rest of us can get off the plane?" Sensational Sherri all but shoved him down the steps, "Thank God I won't have to manage that moron at Survivor Series..." she mumbled under her breath.

"Say, did you book the hotel, Ted?" Jimmy asked his man, still looking green at the gills as he climbed down next.

"All set my man; we have 5 star accomodations set all through the weekend, plus limo service at the door once we get all the luggage set," DiBiase proclaimed.

"Just hold the limos for a little while, Ted," Blassie raised his hand, "I just got an idea on how to give us the edge in the main event; I've just to clear it with Vincenelli first."

"And what would that be, Mr. Blassie?" Paul Bearer intoned, leading the Undertaker off the plane.

"Well no point in telling you now, Paul, in case Vincenelli shoots it down," the Classy One argued.

"And whatever it is, it has to be better than your stupid voodoo idea from last time," Sherri ripped into the mortician.

"That would have worked if Papa Shango had bothered to lock up his shop so Roddy Piper couldn't have gotten his hands on the spare doll..." Bearer started to protest.

"All right, let's leave that plan in the past where it belongs," Blassie interceded, "Give me a minute to run this through, and then we'll see where we stand."

And about four minutes later, the Classy One was cautiously dialing the number of his underworld benefactor, Don Kennedesco Vincenelli, on one of the pay phones in the terminal. "Yeeeessss?" hissed the don's personal bodyguard Patrizio on the other end.

"Hello Patrizio, happy Thanksgiving," Blassie greeted him, muttering, "You turkey..." under his breath before continuing, "Let me have a word with your boss; I've got an idea to run by him."

The phone went silent for a moment before Don Vincenelli came on. "I hope you're not calling from a traceable phone, Blassie," he cautioned the manager.

"No problem Don Vincenelli; I'm in the middle of an airport phone bank in a whole other country; the Mounties are too polite to bother listening in on this call," Blassie argued, "Hey, I know you wanted answers on how to win the main event; I think I got it on the flight up. Heenan overheard the Hitman saying Hulk and his losers would be spending the holidays at the Hart Mansion, and that despite their great Canadian heritage, the Harts agreed to celebrate a more former American Thanksgiving for them. Now I've got the location of the Hart Mansion locked down..."

"And the point is what, Blassie?" the don said impatiently.

"Well, figuring the poisoning trick over the summer might have worked had Hogan stayed in the hospital, I figure, try a similar approach," Blassie reasoned, "Only with drowsiness rather than poisoning. One or a few of us pose as caterers, that someone ordered some more Thanksgiving treats which we deliver to them; with so many Harts in the house, it'll be impossible for them to figure out who ordered what..."

"Doesn't that sound a little complicated to try posing as caterers?" Don Vincenelli interrupted.

"Well I figured it's a lot safer than trying to break in and spike their food; with so many people in their house this weekend, even Damien couldn't get in undetected," Blassie argued, "If nothing else, we do have pizza delivery boy costumes that Heenan had us wear for the WWF costume party at Halloween; I wanted to choke him then, but now they might come in handy, especially since they're not trademarked by any company. So, if I go that route, all we have to do is go over to some pizza joint in this city, swipe about a dozen boxes of pizza, spike them, and deliver them-maybe just for the fun of it throw in something that'll cause upset stomach too so if they do make it to the match in the end, they'll be too busy rushing off to go the bathroom throughout it. Well?"

There was more silence before the don answered, "Well, if that's the best you've got, Blassie, I say run with it; I can't think of anything better myself right now. Just make sure the Million Dollar Team is the last one standing."

"I will, Don Vincenelli, and you have a happy Thanksgiving," Blassie told him in parting. He bustled towards the front doors, where the limos DiBiase had ordered were waiting-and in front of the front one, Mr. Perfect and Rick Rude were fighting to get in the door. "It's mine!" the former was shouting, "I'm better than you. I get to ride with Ted and Virgil!"

"I'm the one who's better; you go find another one!" Rude bellowed, trying to shove his fellow Heenan Family member to the ground.

"Both of you knock it off!" Blassie bellowed, rapping them both hard on the shoulder with his cane, "Back in the rear limo just for that; until the two of you stop going at each other's throats, you pay the penalty!"

Perfect and Rude continued glaring at each other as they trudged towards the rear limo. Rolling his eyes, Blassie slid into the second one in line, inside which the other managers had congregated. "We have the green light," he told them as the limos zipped off towards the hotel, "Now we've got to decide who among us would make the best pizza deliverymen..."

* * *

><p>"Here we are, home sweet home at the Hart Mansion," Neidhart declared, braking the van to a rather sudden stop at the curb, jerking everyone forward in their seats, "We hope you enjoyed the trip."<p>

"Well, it certainly was better than the last trip in a Stampede van," Andre looked a little ill at ease from the trip, but remained calm as he stepped outside into the cold November air.

"Which trip was that, Andre?" Tito asked, wrapping his coat more tightly around himself.

"I remember that one all too well; I was there," Bret was chuckling, placing his teammates' luggage on the sidewalk, "Andre had just finished a series of matches for my father; he was late for the plane out of town and wanted to defer to a later flight. My brother Smith insisted we could make the plane, so he and I packaged Andre into the van and proceeded to do a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour all the way to the airport, the R.C.M.P. hot on our tails the whole way. Andre was this close to a coronary from the journey by the time we pulled up to the terminal..."

"What this 'this close' nonsense, Hitman; I WAS having a coronary," the Giant countered, shouldering his oversized trunk,"Your brother's the most reckless driver I've ever had."

"Well, Andre, there's no denying the look on your face at the end was really amusing," Bret chuckled, "OK, everyone all set?"

"Just about," Davey bent down to unlock Mathilda's carrier. "Now remember, girl, no matter how tempting, do not chase the cats in here," he warned his pet, "Mr. and Mrs. Hart value their own pets."

"Faaaaaaaall out then!" the Anvil hefted some more of the group's suitcases himself and led the way through the field of rusting cars and brick piles in the mansion's yard. He hopped up the steps two at a time, rang the doorbell, then flung it open anyway before anyone could answer. "Hi honey, I'm home!" he declared loudly.

"Well it's about time!" came the harsh growl of Ellie Neidhart from the other side of the entrance hall, "You're fifteen minutes behind schedule! I hope you haven't been...!"

"Traffic was heavy, Ellie; it is just after rush hour, you know, and with the Survivor Series in town, it's only going to be heavier," Bret tried to reason with his sister, "And no, Jim wasn't doing anything you need to be worried about..."

"Maybe not this time, but I know he's been hitting the racetrack again; I've heard from witnesses!" Ellie waved a finger in the Anvil's face, "So don't deny it!"

"OK, I won't, because the horse placed, for your information," Neidhart flashed a broad grin, "In fact," he dug into his pocket, "Before I forget, here's your share, dear."

He extended a sizeable wad of money, which Ellie snatched out of his hands. "Next time, I go with you, just to make sure our money isn't being drained," she warned him. "Oh hello, nice to meet you all," she gave a brief glance at the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection before bustling off towards the kitchen. "The love of my life," Neidhart shrugged at everyone else with a grin, "And I wouldn't have her any other way."

"She probably does have a point, Jim; maybe a little less time at the track would be better," Davey advised his brother-in-law, "Knowing how Ellie can explode if surprised..."

"Dad!" came the excited cry of the boy that came running through the archway Ellie had gone through. The British Bulldog's face lit up. "Harry, come here my boy," he proclaimed, lifting his son off the ground, "I've been so looking forward to seeing you again-and your mother too," he smiled at Diana standing in the archway too. "I've missed you too, darling," he put Harry down to go over and hug his bride.

"Same here, Davey," she kissed him passionately, "Good work keeping an eye on him, Bret," she commended her brother.

"Well, I know if anything happened to him on the road, you'd be upset," Bret hugged her once she'd let go of her husband, "It is good to be home for the holidays, Diana."

"And it's good to have you home too, Bret," came the warm voice of Helen Hart from behind her daughter. The matriarch of the Hart clan frowned at the sight of her son. "What happened to your face...?" she fretted, coming over to examine the marks on them closer.

"Rick Martel; he started a brawl at the airport with the rest of his team," the Hitman explained, "I told him we didn't want to fight, but he and his goons jumped us anyway."

"I used to think he was a nice young man when he was teaming up with Mr. Santana...oh, speaking of which," she noticed Tito and her son's teammates, "Welcome to our humble home, all of you; Bret's said nothing but glowing things about you all. Well don't just stand there, come on in; there's plenty of room in the den for your things for the moment."

"Do they have to, Mother; I'm trying to watch the game!" came the whining protest from the den.

"That's all you've been doing all day, Smith," Diana growled towards the den, "While meanwhile, the rest of us have slaved away trying to get everything ready for Bret's friends; you could lend a hand, you know!"

"I'd have to agree with your sister, Smith; come in and help with the luggage,' Helen ordered her oldest son.

"Do I have to?" Smith whined loudly.

"You heard Mom; get your lazy butt up and do something for a change!" barked another female voice in the den. With a loud growl, Smith stormed out into the den, seized a handful of suitcases, and all but flung them roughly into the corner. "You'll have to forgive Smith; he's been a bit gruff lately," Helen lamented to her son's teammates, "Nonetheless, it is good to see you all; Mr. Hogan, it is good to meet you in person at last," she shook Hulk's hand, "I appreciate someone who's willing to stand up for America all over the world."

"Well, it's the greatest country on earth, Mrs. Hart-no offense, Bret," Hulk quickly asided to his teammate, "And I wouldn't move anywhere for anything."

"And for years, she wouldn't care about any of the wrestlers that worked for Dad," Diana pointed out, picking her son back up.

"Well, I guess after all this time, the sport kind of grew on me," Helen confessed, "And tuning in to watch Bret wrestle every weekend has become a daily ritual for all of us."

"And I appreciate that, Mom," Bret gave her a kiss, "Jim said the kids were here...?"

"Daddy!" came more cries from the archway. The Hitman's face lit up at the sight of his two oldest children running towards them. "Come here, you two," he smiled, lifting them up and kissing them both, "I love you two so much-I've missed you two so much."

"We've missed you too, Daddy,' Jade kissed him back, "We're glad you came back for Thanksgiving; we just wish Mommy would have brought Aunt Michelle here too instead of spending Thanksgiving with her one province away."

"So do I, princess, so do I," Bret lamented softly, shooting a glance at his mother, who solemnly mouthed, "_Your father and I did everything we could to convince her to stay_ _for their sake_. "But nothing says we can't call her up tomorrow and wish her a happy Thanksgiving, though," he tried to put a positive spin on the admittedly grim situation, "And look who I brought with me..."

"The Hulkster!" Dallas's eyes bulged in delight at the sight of the world champion.

"Yep, I brought the Hulkster, and everyone else I work with," Bret eagerly handed his son off to Hulk.

"Good to meet you at last, Dallas," Hulk smiled at the boy, "Your dad says so many great things about you and how much good you do for him. Do you believe in the prayers, the training, and the vitamins too?"

"You betcha!" the boy proclaimed enthusiastically, making everyone crack up. "And look who else I brought with me; Miss Elizabeth's here too," he told his daughter, gently leading her over to the First Lady of Wrestling.

"Well hello there, Jade," with a warm smile, Elizabeth bent down to the girl's level, "Your father tells me you're my biggest fan in the whole world."

"I am!" Jade gushed excitedly, "I want to be just like you!"

"Well maybe you will be. Let's see if you can lead Randy into the ring just like I can," Elizabeth gently challenged her. Jade eagerly pretended to march towards the doorway to the den, then pretended to open an imaginary set of ropes. Savage stepped forward and climbed through the pretend ropes, then twirled in a circle as was his custom for an actual match. "Yep, you've got what it takes, oooooooooh yeah!" he commended the girl, hoisting her up on his shoulders to widespread applause from everyone else.

"Ah, whatever," came the snort from the man slouched on the sofa, hooked up to a dialysis machine, "I still liked you better with that black-haired chick, Macho."

"Dean!" Bret glared his slightly older brother down.

"Well it's the truth, Bret..." Dean protested.

"He's just bitter that he can't wrestle anymore," snorted one of the two women knitting on the sofa across from Dean, "That and the fact that none of his con artist schemes that he and Smith cook up work."

"They would work if you'd give them a chance, Georgia," Smith grumbled, slumping back down in his armchair after having all but obliterated the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection's luggage throwing it around, "Neither you nor anyone else can appreciate the genius of the two of us!"

"Stupidity is what it's more like...!"

"All right, all right, it's Thanksgiving, we're a family, we're not supposed to fight at all," Helen tried to calm the storm, "Mr. Hogan, everyone, Smith, Dean, Georgia, and Alison," she pointed to her children in turn.

"Pleasure to meet you all," Alison greeted them with a friendly wave, her other hand cuddling her baby daughter close, "We'll be at the event; Mr. Tunney sent Dad complimentary ringside tickets, given that he'll be refereeing. We all watch Bret's matches every weekend..."

"Mom just said that in the foyer; no need to repeat it in here," Smith growled.

"You never know when to stop, do you?" Georgia rolled her eyes.

"I hear Owen's back now too, Mom," Bret asked his mother, looking clearly eager to diffuse the sniping.

"Yes, he just got in last night, Bret, but he's still rather glum over being sent home," Helen shook her head, "He's hardly left his room since then."

"I'll have a word with him; he trusts me," the Hitman declared, 'Jim, Davey, come on along; it would be better if it's a group message, and he's practically one of us anyway. Dad...?"

"Going over the business with your brothers in his office; it's been getting a little heated at times," Helen shook her head.

"I'd like to meet him firsthand," Hulk declared, "I've always dreamed of meeting him face to face."

"Count me in, champ; he's one legend that's always been high on my list too," Savage declared. "You gonna be OK by yourself for a little while?" he asked his wife.

"Of course I'll be fine, Randy, especially with my biggest fan here to watch over me," Elizabeth rubbed Jade's hair as the girl hugged her leg.

"OK then, I'll be back eventually," Savage turned to walk off, stopping to grumble, "Don't either of you get any funny ideas," at Smith and Dean before following his fellow Mega Power towards the stairs. "Right down the hall to your left at the top of the stairs, Mr. Hogan, Mr. Savage, you can't miss it; good luck, Bret, Owen could really use the boost right now," Helen encouraged her son and son-in-laws as they climbed the stairs as well. "The rest of you, make yourselves right at home," she told the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, "I'll whip up some tea if any of you would like it."

"Don't mind if we do, Mrs. H. Move over there, trooper," Piper pushed Dean's legs up and leaped onto the sofa next to him. "Who's playing?" he asked him, turning to the game on the TV screen.

"Medicine Hat and Moose Jaw; Tigers are up two-one in the second," Dean laid it out for him, "And no, we don't get golf on any channel for you Scottish guys at this time of day..."

"You know, hiding behind the fact you need a transplant to get sympathy will only get you so far," Georgia upbraided him, "Let's at least try and be ethnically sensitive to everyone here."

"Besides, I watch hockey all the time-whoa, check that out!" Piper proclaimed as a Moose Jaw forward was flattened hard into the boards.

"I did too when the Flames used to be in Atlanta," the Boss Man slid into an Ottoman in the corner to check out the action, Tito sitting next to him, "It was a bit disappointing when they moved up here to Calgary. Maybe Atlanta'll get another team down the road..."

"I catch a game every now and then too," Andre, having nowhere to sit that could support his weight, leaned against the far wall, "When I was smaller, I wanted to play some pucks back in Grenoble..."

"I think you made the right choice getting into wrestling though, Mr. Giant. Take my picture with him, Aunt Alison," Dallas encouraged her, sliding alongside Andre's leg.

"Give me a minute here, little guy," Alison rummaged around for a camera, pulled it out, and took her nephew's photo. "I see you've been busy with a child too," she remarked to Bonnie, who had sat down with Steamboat next to her on the sofa.

"It's a full-time job, but one I'm glad to have. Bonnie Steamboat," she shook Alison's and then Georgia's hands, "Rick wanted me to come along with Richie this time; so far, I'm pretty glad I did."

"As am I," the Dragon kissed his wife and took his son from her. "What's your little one's named?" he asked Alison.

"Brooke," she told him, "The older girl's with her father for the holidays..."

"Oh, I see, I'm sorry," Elizabeth told her sympathetically, sliding between the two Hart sisters, cuddling a still wide-eyed Jade in her arms, "So, then, otherwise, your whole family's here right now...?"

"Keith had to go put out a fire in the southwest part of town; he should be back soon," Alison told her, "Other than that, yep, we're all here, and like I said, we'll all be at ringside for the event tomorrow."

"Which means we'll have to live through three more hours of Ellie and Diana going tooth and nail over whether Jim or Davey's the better wrestler," Georgia sighed, "The two of them never let up during a live match, especially whenever Jim or Davey's involved..."

"You know Ellie always starts it, Georgia," Diana protested from the doorway, "She always has to instigate everything..."

"And then you keep it going by giving in to her desire to fight, Diana, and it gets irritating after some time," her sister retorted.

"And right now you're all being irritating because I can't concentrate on the game!" Smith whined loudly.

"Oh shut up!" everyone in the room shouted at him. "Miserable good for nothing," Georgia muttered under her breath at the other women, "Lays around all day with no job, wanting to be waited on hand and foot as if being the oldest makes him royalty, and always scheming with Dean on some get rich quick plan that's against the law. Of course, Dean's no better, trying to get sympathy with his condition that he doesn't deserve..."

"I'd heard something about how he needed a transplant...?" Elizabeth whispered, nonetheless looking concerned about Dean's condition.

"If they can find the right match for the kidneys, but since everyone in the family's active, we're all out," Alison shook her head, "He may be unethical, but he is still our brother, and I'd hate to see anything happen to him..."

* * *

><p>Helen's forewarning that things would be heated in her husband's office proved quite prescient, for as Hulk approached it, subdued but still intense shouting could be heard. "...just need a few hundred thousand dollars to get us through next year, Dad!" a younger voice was protesting.<p>

"And then what?" came Stu Hart's firm, booming voice, "Look, Bruce, if the talent isn't working, the promotion isn't going to work."

"We can make it work, Dad, I swear we can," another man interceded, "We just need more time and more money..."

"Ross, I told you, if you wanted to bring Stampede Wrestling back, you'd have to do it on your own," Stu said sternly, "Besides, I can't spare any more money-we need it just to pay the mortgage on this place anyway-so I couldn't give you anything even if you wanted to. He let out a low sigh, and as Hulk peeked in the doorway, unnoticed, he saw an expression of regret, perhaps accumulated over the years, hanging heavily over the old man's face. "Listen boys," he told his three sons before him in the office, "Maybe it's time we put Stampede Wrestling to rest. It had a great run, some of the best years of my life were spent running and seeing you and your brothers in action in the ring, but times have changed, and when you're not making money, there's really no need to keep beating a dead horse."

"Well if you hadn't sold out to Jack Tunney, Dad, maybe a good product would still be there!" Bruce sounded rather bitter.

"Bruce, Bruce, please try and understand; I wanted your mother to have a good nest egg for our retirement; she deserved that after putting up with the business for so many years," Stu said as calmly as he could manage, "Jack Tunney gave me a very fair and wealthy offer for Stampede; I would have been a bigger fool not to accept it. And most of our stars are doing well enough in WWF, aren't they? Especially Bret and Davey? You can't hold onto the past, Bruce; it only holds you back. I appreciate the initiative you've shown in wanting to start Stampede up again, but..."

"We can't shut down now, we just can't!" Ross also seemed unwilling to let go, "Not when we've invested so much in it...!"

"Well if you ask me, I think we need to change the atmosphere a bit," the third brother spoke up, "The way we're asking them to finish the matches..."

"It's just fine, Wayne; we're working the show just fine; the fans just don't seem to appreciate it anymore!" Bruce blasted him.

"Listen to Wayne, Bruce; I've told you before, you _cannot_ end every other match with one wrestler kicking the other in the...!" Stu finally turned to the door and realized he had company. "Oh, Mr. Hogan, you're here," he exclaimed.

"Yeah, we got in a few minutes ago. So you're the great Stu Hart," a wide smile on his face, Hulk shook the man's hand, "It is an honor beyond words to shake the hand of an all-time legend like you; Bret can't thank you enough for helping his career take off."

"It's my honor too, Mr. Hart, oooooooooh yeah!" Savage gave Stu's hand an overly vigorous pumping.

"Thank, thank you Mr. Savage," Stu pulled his hand loose, "I'd like you to meet my sons, Bruce, Ross, and Wayne," he introduced them formally to the Mega Powers, "They've been trying to keep Stampede Wrestling going ever since I sold the original incarnation to the WWF."

"And we can do it if we just had a little more funding," Bruce grumbled, nonetheless shaking Hulk and Savage's hands.

"Well, maybe luck will shine on you, Bruce," Hulk said optimistically, turning to Savage and putting a finger to his lips, silently asking him to stay quiet about what they had heard. "So, Wayne," he turned to him next, "Bret says you're practically a wrestling encyclopedia."

"Well, I have proved good at memorizing lots of results over the years..." Wayne admitted modestly.

"OK, then, who won the Louisiana Wrestling Alliance's world championship match in 1944?" Savage challenged him. Wayne's brow furled as he thought it over, then smiled and answered: "Major Marshall, by submission over Baron von Blitzkrieg."

"OOOOOOOOh yeah, he is good!" Savage slapped Wayne a high-five, "So how come I hear you're just the referee in the revived Stampede when you've clearly got such a good head on your shoulders?"

"We agreed that as with more experience in the matters, Ross and I would be better suited to take the lead," Bruce cut in quickly.

"Say, Mr. Hart," Hulk quickly cut in, sensing a volcano was about to erupt, "Randy and I have always wanted to take a look at the Dungeon; given how many legends have trained down there..."

"I'd be glad to Mr. Hogan. Think over what I said, boys," Stu gave his sons a parting word of advice before leading the Mega Powers out the door. Once they were gone, Ross buried his head in his hands. "What are we going to do now?" he lamented, "If Dad won't give us the money to keep going, where are we supposed to turn now?"

"I'm working on it, brother, I'm working on it," Bruce said exasperatedly, "There's still a chance if the deal I made comes through-but the two of you have to keep it absolutely top secret; not even the kids are supposed to know anything," he gave his brothers a stern look.

"_I_ don't even know what it is, Bruce," Wayne frowned at him, "I thought I was part of this partnership too...?"

"You are, Wayne, you are, it's just...Dad wouldn't like it at all," Bruce said quickly.

"Bruce, are we breaking the law to do this...?"

"No, we're not breaking the law, it's just...it's just better if Dad didn't know," the older brother sighed, "I wish it didn't have to come to this, but if we want to save Stampede, it's our only hope..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Owen?" Bret hesitantly stuck his head in the door of his youngest brother's room.

"Hi, Bret," came the low voice from behind the large mop of blonde hair by the window, which Owen was staring out of without turning around. Bret stepped forward, his brother-in-laws right behind. "I heard what happened, Owen; they made a mistake in firing you..." he began.

"I don't know anymore, Bret," Owen turned around and buried his face in his hands, "I've been trying for five years; I can't seem to get a break anywhere. Inoki said I'm a no-talent nothing just riding off the family coattails; sure, he hasn't given me much of a push, but maybe he's right..."

"Now Owen, you know that's not true..."

"What have I done, really?" Owen lamented, "I haven't had one good match yet, and I can't get in anywhere else other than Japan...!"

"Well I'm sure Bruce and Ross would let you in if you asked..." Neidhart offered.

"I already did ask, Jim; they turned me down flat; told me I'm too young and can't cut it," Owen had to fight to keep from breaking down, "My own brothers telling me I don't have it! And I can tell Mom wants me to stop as well; it's clear she doesn't want to see her baby hurt. It's not easy being the youngest, you know, the one they'll always think is too small and too...you know what I mean."

"Owen, listen to me on this," Bret bent down, put an arm around his brother, and looked him square in the eye, "Doesn't Dad always say that real talent always comes to the surface in the end? They'll give you the break in time, Owen; eventually they'll see you're the best one in the family..."

"You're the best one, Bret..."

"Only because I got the chance to work my way to the top; your day's coming, Owen; trust me on that," the Hitman took his brother's hand and gave him a confident look, "If you want, I can talk to Jack Tunney after Survivor Series and see if he can spare room for you; maybe you and Jim could team up if you need some time to break in..."

"Like I said at the airport, ace, not sure yet if I want to come back yet; I think I would, though," the Anvil reminded him.

"Or better yet, maybe the four of us together as a group," Davey proposed, "The four stallions, running wild and hard, for the honor of Canada and Britain..."

"Hmm, interesting thought there, Davey," Bret mused, a light coming on in his eye, "Not right away, of course, since I still have lots of Intercontinental matches to work off of, but maybe somewhere down the road..." he stared into the mirror on the wall, and the image of the four of them standing tall and proud, "...yeah, I think we all could do great things together. Too bad Tom isn't going to be around anymore to make it the five original stallions, though; it wouldn't be complete without him..."

"Ah, Hitman," Hulk noticed them as he and Savage were led past the door, "We're going to see the Dungeon; care to come along?"

"Uh, sure, be right down there; Dad," Bret greeted his father with a small wave as well. "Hey Owen, bring the tape of that kid from Edmonton," he told his brother with a grin, "I think they'll love to hear that one."

"Right," Owen's expression was already perking up as he dug an old tape recorder out of the drawer and followed Bret out the door. Davey and Neidhart exchanged knowing glances. "Owen'll be just fine," the British Bulldog confirmed both their thought.

"Yep, soon everyone'll know he's just as good as his brother," the Anvil agreed, "Maybe I will team up with him, at least at first, to..."

A loud barking rang out up the hallway, followed by a loud, terrified meow. "Oh no!" Davey slapped a hand to his face in frustration. "Mathilda!" he barked himself at his pet, rushing out the door, "I said stay away from the cats!"

* * *

><p>"So this is it?" Hulk was awed as he descended down the stairs behind Stu into the fabled Hart Dungeon, "This is where all the dreams were made...?"<p>

"This is it, Mr. Hogan," Stu groped for the light switch, illuminating the training area, with its numerous mats and weights. "Incredible," Savage, now with Elizabeth beside him, was equally awed.

"If these walls, could talk-or, more likely, scream-Randy, you'd be surprised what they'd have to say," Bret agreed, waving Owen down the stairs as well, "And more than a few people have indeed screamed. This one time," he had to fight back laughter, "We'd just finished a show in Edmonton, and this kid came up to us backstage. Said he wanted to be a wrestler, said he was already a pro, and then did this," he punched himself in the face and fell to the nearest mat, "to show he could 'act.' Dad agreed to 'take him on,' invited him over here, and then proceeded to personally twist him into a human pretzel to show him it takes more than 'acting' to be a good wrestler. In fact, we still have that session on tape, right Owen?"

He turned to his brother, who immediately hit the play button on the tape recorder. Within seconds, the most horrible screams imaginable rang out throughout the Dungeon. Even Hulk shivered at the thought of what the green recruit had been put through. "Well, uh, I see you still take your training quite seriously, Mr. Hart," was all he could manage to say.

"I demand the best out of my students, Mr. Hogan; I push them hard to get the best out of them," the legendary wrestler declared. "And I've still got the touch all these years later; I'll show you. Owen, come on down, my boy."

"I'm not sure, Dad..." Owen looked a little hesitant.

"Come on, Owen, it's just for demonstrative purposes," his father urged him. Owen shrugged and got into position with Stu on the mats. "Count us in, Miss Hulette," he told Elizabeth.

"Uh, three, two, one," the words were barely out of Elizabeth's mouth when Stu picked his son up and flipped him hard to the mat. Before Owen could fully recover, his father plowed into him, suplexed him, dropped four straight elbows on him, and twisted his legs into a particularly painful-looking Sharpshooter. Trying to suppress a clearly pained look, Owen quickly tapped out. "There we go, that's how the Hart Method goes," Stu declared victoriously, "What do you think, Miss Hulette?"

Her mouth hanging wide open in shock from the spectacle she'd just seen, Elizabeth took a few seconds to answer, "Well, uh...that's, um, that's nice, Mr. Hart, but, uh...my training methods happen to be a little more, um...relaxed."

"Well, everyone has their own style," Stu conceded, helping Owen up gently, "You never know what can come out of a full contact training session; that's how I discovered the Sharpshooter, in fact."

"Oh really?" Hulk was intrigued.

"Yep. I was training this really big guy, forget his name already; he was giving me more trouble than I'd anticipated. He was slamming me, and grabbed his legs; he fell over me. I was partially pinned under him, but his legs were twisted into the basic form of the Sharpshooter. From the way he screamed and tapped out, I knew I was onto something, so I set about perfecting the Sharpshooter, and when I had, I made it my own move-and because it was so special, I knew that only immediate family could be trusted with it," he smiled at his sons, "So all in all..."

There was a knocking at the top of the stairs. "I'm home, Dad," came another man's voice.

"Ah, Keith, welcome home," Stu greeted his remaining son, still wearing his fireman's gear, "As you can see, Bret's friends arrived already."

"Pleased to meet you, yeah," Savage shook Keith's hand firmly, "Hitman here has found memories tagging with you in Stampede. Hard night's work?"

"Actually yeah, Macho," Keith sat down on a bench, winded, "No sooner did we put out the fire on Maple Street than we got another call at the abandoned petrochemical plant across town; we had to work overtime on that one, otherwise I'd've been home sooner." He wiped sweat from his brow. "Frankly, it seems a lot more fires than normal have been breaking out in this city lately; I'm beginning to suspect someone's setting them on purpose, although I haven't got anything close to proof yet."

"Well, as long as this house doesn't burn down, that's all that matters," Stu remarked, seeming a bit wistful, Hulk thought.

"I hope not, Dad; you know how a couple of those more recent fires were awfully close to our neighborhood," Keith reminded him. He glanced around the Dungeon. "And I'd hate to see this old place burn up; I have a lot of fond memories down here too. If I could train here regularly again..."

"Well maybe you could, for one day," Elizabeth's eyes had lit up. "I just had an idea," she told the others, "Since I was hoping to get one more practice in before the main event tomorrow with the Mega Powers Team, how about we hold it as a sort of special event for the kids, a match before the match, with all the Hart brothers reunited for one day only to play the Million Dollar Corporation?"

"Well, I don't see why not," Stu stroked his chin, looking satisfied, "Yeah, I could see that; it'll get some of the less active ones back in shape, too."

"Just down tell it to their faces that you think they're less active, Dad," Bret cautioned him, "You know how some of them can't take criticism well."

"Not to worry, Bret, not to worry."

"Well, before that, mind if I do a little lifting with the legendary Hart weights to get more ready?" Hulk inquired; he'd been looking forward to this all month.

"Don't mind it at all, Mr. Hogan. Owen, spot for the man," the patriarch instructed his youngest son. Owen flashed an expression that seemed to hint he was often asked to spot for others and preferred not to; nonetheless, he complied. "Feel ready for tomorrow, Hulk?" he asked the world champion once Hulk had set the barbels at four hundred pounds and started pumping away.

"Ready as I'll ever be, Owen," Hulk declared confidently between grunts, "Nothing's going to stop us now."

* * *

><p>"That is an awful lot of sleeping medication you're buying there, mister," the drugstore clerk told Heenan with raised eyebrows, eyeing the almost forty containers of sleeping pills and liquids in his shopping cart.<p>

"It's, uh, for my sister, she uh, has sleeping problems, really big sleeping problems, suffers from, uh, paranoid schizophrenia," Heenan rambled out.

"And what's that? I've never heard of that before," the clerk frowned.

"Oh, uh, schizophrenia with, um...paranoid delusions," Heenan explained quickly, "Don't worry, her doctor says it's OK for her to take this much; in fact, I'm stocking up for the whole month."

The clerk glanced over the shopping cart's contents. "You're the third person that came in here buying this stuff in the last half hour in big quantities," he mused softly, "Oh well. That'll be two hundred and ninety-eight Canadian dollars."

"Here, I'll charge it," Heenan handed the clerk his credit card. Once the man had turned his back to verify the card, the Brain quickly reached into the cash register and helped himself to a fistful of cash. He flashed an innocent smile as the clerk returned, handed the card to him, and told him in parting, "Have a good day, sir."

"Same to you, and happy Thanksgiving," Heenan told him, adding, "Chump," once he was safely out the door. He made for the limo parked nearby and dumped his wares into the front seat next to the confused driver. "Remember, and extra tip not to say a word about this to anything," he reminded the man.

The driver merely nodded in shock. Heenan slid next to the Sheik and Volkoff in the rear. "This phase complete; I think we've got enough sleeping medication here to put a whole herd of elephants to sleep," he told them, "How about the constipation stuff."

"Right here, Comrade Heenan," Volkoff held up several jars, "KGB interrogation surplus given to me by Moscow regional director to use when needed; I've been waiting for right time to use against opponent in ring."

"What a great convenience," Heenan mused thoughtfully, "Well, anyway, next stop, to get ourselves a whole load of pizzas for delivery to the Hart Mansion for lunch tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

"Calgary sure looks lovely at night, Hitman," Hulk remarked, staring out the attic window, where he and Bret would be rooming for the weekend.

"Yep, and you should see it during the Christmas season; it's especially beautiful then, particularly with snow on the ground," Bret agreed, leafing through the pages of the latest issue of the WWF magazine. "I can't get off where some of the guys we work with say the things they do," he frowned, "Take a look at this: Adonis says Piper's a major league chicken for not agreeing to face him this Survivor Series. How was Roddy supposed to know Adrian wouldn't be on the other team; it's completely up to each captain."

"Well, some guys just never learn," Hulk stretched out on the bed, "Owen holding up OK?"

"I think, but I'm going to have to have a word with Bruce and Ross about putting him down; they know he's the best one in the whole family," Bret remarked, frustration on his face, "The fact that he's the youngest shouldn't have to matter; maybe it's just that they're jealous. He'll get his big break some day...I hope..."

He placed the magazine on the floor. "He wanted to be a superhero when he was younger," he chuckled, "I guess you've seen Blue Blazer comics...?"

"Oh yeah, and I loved the Blazer cartoon series as a kid too," Hulk's face lit up with the fond memories.

"Owen worshipped the Blazer; he liked the idea of being a guardian of justice," Bret recalled, "When he first started out, he even dressed up as the Blazer in the ring, and I think he might have gotten farther if the comic publisher hadn't sued him for copyright infringement, which I didn't see at all. Sometimes it seems he just can't catch a break..."

"Well, maybe he should keep trying; I think the WWF could use an actual superhero-even though lots of the kids see us as practical superheroes," Hulk chuckled himself.

"Possibly. Here, I think there's a picture of him in costume as the Blazer for Halloween the one year in one of these trunks," Bret opened a few of them, finally finding what he was looking for. "Right here," he pulled out a pack and handed them to the champion. Hulk grinned at the picture of Owen in costume. He pulled up the next one-one of the Hart children, all still minors in this photo, at the parade for the annual Calgary Stampede. "I guess you guys were frequent participants here, huh?" he inquired knowingly.

"Oh, I haven't seen this one in a while," Bret eyed it, "Yeah, we were..."

"And I see you planned on being a sheriff," Hulk noticed his teammate was decked out in a large cowboy hat.

"Oh yeah, that was my dream for many a year," Bret laughed at the sight of his younger self, "Owen wanted to be the Blue Blazer; I wanted to be a cowboy. Still did for years afterwards; in fact, my first territory outside of Stampede, they wanted me to dress up as a cowboy."

"Why didn't you take that offer up?"

"Here in Calgary, Hulk, if you call yourself a cowboy, you'd better darn well be one in real life," the Hitman informed him.

He leaned back on the bed. "Looking back, it wasn't always rosy," he remembered, "At times, when Stampede wasn't drawing as well as we'd hoped, we'd be near flat broke, and we'd all have to wear shorts in the dead of winter. There were some times I wondered if the business was worth it and whether I'd really be smart getting involved, but I have, and I wouldn't trade it for anything now."

"Same here," Hulk agreed. He glanced at the small clock on the wall, which read quarter after midnight. "Well, I'm probably going to pack it in for the night after this, but I'm going down for a drink. Still enough soda in the fridge?"

"I believe there is. I'm coming too; I feel thirsty myself," Bret rose up and followed the champion downstairs. Hulk abruptly stopped on the second floor landing and put a finger to his lips. He pointed at the three guest rooms along the landing, inside which the Savages, Steamboats, and Smiths could all be heard consumating their marriages. Hulk suppressed a loud chuckle. "Good thing the kids are all asleep by now, or they'd be breaking the doors down to see what this symphony's all about," he confided in his partner.

"What a symphony it is," Bret looked both regretful and amused, "Wish Julie and I could still make music like that..."

He shook his head and continued following Hulk downstairs. While the kids were asleep, another figure was wide awake in the kitchen. "Still upset over everything, Owen?" Bret looked worried as he took note of his brother half-slumped over a chair, staring out the window.

"I can't help it, Bret, no matter how much support I might get, it's still too much," Owen confessed somberly, "I have to be the best to stand out..."

"Now come on Owen, listen to your brother," Hulk tried to encourage him, "It's more than..."

Suddenly there came the sound of a colossal explosion from almost directly across the street. Shocked, all three men ran to the window. "Oh my God!" Bret gasped, seeing the house across the street absolutely engulfed in flames, "The Prescotts...!"

"Friends of yours?" Hulk inquired nervously.

"I've known Marcia most of my life; she and her kids would be in there...!" without a second thought, the Hitman rushed for the front door. "What happened out there?" came Stu's voice from the top of the stairs, accompanied by the sounds of other doors opening throughout the Hart House, "Where are you all going...?"

His voice trailed away as the three men rushed across the street towards the burning building. Hulk yanked hard on the door, but found the door locked. He stepped back and kicked it down. "Mrs. Prescott?" he called loudly into the house, then listened hard. And sure enough, what appeared to be a scream wafted from the smoky interior. "Hang on, we're coming in!" he called, covering his nose and mouth and rushing in.

"Wait," Bret held up and arm to block Owen from rushing in as well, "You wait here; get them over for some aid when we get them out."

"But Bret, I...!"

"Wait here," the Hitman told him firmly, covering his own mouth and rushing in. Flames danced everywhere, and the smoke severely limited visibility. Hulk was starting to cough even with his face covered. "Mrs. Prescott?" he called out again, glancing worriedly at the roof as it started creaking ominously.

"Help!" came the loud cry of two children from what appeared to be the closet under the stairs, one of the few places not burning like crazy at the moment. "Hold on, Miles, Ann; we're here!" Bret was coughing as well now. He threw the door open to reveal Mrs. Prescott and her children huddled in terror in the rear. "It's OK, Miles, Ann, we're here!" the Hitman reached out for them, "We're going to...!"

"Uh oh, here comes the roof!" Hulk gasped, looking scared now himself as it started to collapse above them with a loud groan...

...but then, out of nowhere, a pair of giant hands grabbed the roof and lifted it back up. "Andre?" Hulk rubbed his eyes to make out his large friend before him in the smoke.

"You think I'd let you have all the credit?" Andre groaned, straining with all his might to hold the roof up, "Go, quickly; I can't hold it...!" he started coughing hard as well.

"Go, go!" Bret handed the children to Hulk, who carried them swiftly past Andre towards the door. "Come on, Marcia, it's now or never!" Bret took his scared neighbor by the arm and dragged her as fast as he could towards the door. "Here!" he shoved her towards Owen, who already had her children in his arms, "OK, now, Andre!"

He rushed past Owen and dove for the safety of the grass; moments later, Andre's massive frame crashed through the doorframe and dove over the railing seconds before the interior of the house collapsed with a massive burst of flames and smoke. Bret rolled over to where Hulk was lying on the grass. "OK?" he asked the world champion.

"Yeah," Hulk coughed, staring up at the burning house, "Wonder what caused an explosion like that?"

"Move, move!" came Keith's shout to them as he rushed forward with a spare fire hose of his own. Hulk and Bret obligingly scrambled out of the way. "Hit it, Mom!" Keith shouted back to the Hart mansion. Moments later a sharp burst of water exploded from the hose, extinguishing the outermost flames on the porch, from which Owen was rushing with the Prescotts, covered in soot and coughing, but otherwise all right. Hulk and Bret exchanged a satisfied glance. "We did it," they remarked, shaking each other's hands.

* * *

><p>A half hour later, after the rest of the Calgary fire department had arrived and successfully put out the fire, the two of them-along with half the neighborhood-were still staring at the remains of the Prescott house. "She just managed to buy that with what was left in the divorce settlement," the Hitman mused sadly, eyeing the charred wreckage, "They'll probably have to move now...they're such a nice family..."<p>

"Excuse me," the fire marshal approached them, "You were the first to see the fire?"

"That's us," Hulk nodded.

"Did you happen to see it start?"

"No sir, we just heard this tremendous explosion, and when we looked out the window, it was already on fire."

"Tremendous explosion, huh?" the fire marshal checked his notes, "Looks like a fairly simple case of a gas tank going off..."

"It wasn't an accident!" Mrs. Prescott protested nearby, where Stu and Helen were comforting her, "I just had the gas checked last week!"

"I've got bigger news than that," the Boss Man approached, looking stone-faced, "I ran a check around the house; there's gears and wiring, plus traces of C4 in the southeast corner; I think this was a bomb."

"And what makes you so sure of that, mister...?"

"Raymond Traylor, Cobb County Corrections, Georgia U.S.A. And for your information, Mr...McMurdo," he checked the fire marshal's name tag, "I have over twenty years experience in law enforcement before I started wrestling; I know a bomb when I see one, and I'm pretty sure this was a bomb."

"Just like I was saying earlier, chief," Keith urged his superior, "I think there's a clear pattern of arson going on in this city, and this was their latest target."

"Hmm, I don't know, Hart," the fire marshal rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "It may look like that, but I can't be..."

"Well, let's get some more proof, then," Bret walked over to the Prescott children, themselves being comforted on the curb by Bonnie and Elizabeth. "Miles, Ann," he greeted them warmly, "Feeling any better?"

Both children nodded softly, looking far from comforted. "I'm sorry this happened," the Hitman leaned down to their level, "Did any of you happen to see anything before your house caught on fire?"

"I might have," Miles raised his hand softly. He gulped as Bret waved the fire marshal over to hear him and whispered loudly, "I think there was someone outside; I went for a drink, I saw a shadow in the bushes..."

"Just a shadow? You couldn't see his face or anything?"

The boy shook his head. "OK, thank you, you might help us to figure out what happened here. Oh, and for you and your sister..." Bret dug out a pair of spare Hitman shades from under his pajamas and handed them to both children. "Thank you, Bret," Marcia told him softly, coming over and hugging her children.

"I knew it might help cheer them up, Marcia," he admitted, "I'm sorry this happened as well."

"You could stay with us tonight if you want," Helen put a hand on the woman's shoulder, "We could still manage some room if..."

"I appreciate it, Mrs. Hart, but I guess we'll shack up with my brother across town," Mrs. Prescott shook her head, "I probably should have sold when I had the chance..."

"Wait, what's this about selling?" Hulk frowned.

"Well, some guy came by, offering to buy the house for five hundred thousand dollars last week," she admitted, "He seemed rather adamant about it, saying he felt I had made a bad investment buying this house after...after things proved too hard between their father and I," she hugged her children close, looking sad the relationship hadn't worked out, "I didn't want to uproot Miles and Ann, so I turned him down even when he got to a million and a half. Now we'll have to move...although I can't help wondering," she glanced back at the house's charred remains, "He got mad afterwards and said I'd be moving out anyway..."

"That sounds awfully suspicious to me," the Boss Man nodded knowingly, "How about you, McMurdo?"

"I believe you and Hart might indeed be on to something here, Mr. Traylor," the fire marshal now looked convinced of foul play, "Mrs. Prescott, can you describe this man?"

Before she could answer, there came the squealing of brakes as several news vans pulled up alongside the fire trucks. "Over here," a female reporter rushed pell-mell towards the knot of people on the curb. "Chief McMurdo, we understand that Calgary's own Bret 'Hitman' Hart saved the family victimized by the fire here," she all but rambled in his face.

"Well, Hulk and Andre deserve just as much credit; it was a team effort," Bret admitted. The flashbulbs of numerous cameras started blinking immediately. "Mr. Hart, tell us exactly what happened?" the reporter pressed him.

"There's nothing much to report; we just heard the explosion, saw the fire, realized Marcia Prescott and her family were in danger and went in; same as the average person on the street would have done," Bret said modestly.

"How does it feel, then, to be a hero, Mr. Hart?"

"It feels terrific," Hulk interceded, "For years, I've told the fans that with the prayers, the training, and the vitamins, they can do anything; if you care too, though, anyone can be a hero, and I'm proud to have helped save this family; now the fans can really be proud of us."

"Uh, more or less like he said," Bret backed his colleague up, "But we wouldn't have gotten out if..." he blinked back the intense flashing of more flashbulbs, "...if Andre here hadn't held up the roof to allow us time to escape."

"Mr. Rousimoff, how do you feel about your role in..." the reporter started grilling the Giant. Bret's attention, though, was diverted elsewhere, to the curb, where Owen stood staring at him being interviewed-and the Hitman couldn't mistake the distinctly jealous expression on his brother's face. "Funny, he doesn't look too happy about it," Hulk noticed as well right before Owen turned and walked dejectedly back into the house.

"Well I didn't want to be responsible for putting him in harm's way in there; if anything had happened to him in there, I'd never be able to live with myself," Bret said, looking concerned for Owen's feelings, "That's why I held him back. Maybe I should have a quick word and congratulate him on the importance he did play in..."

"Oh, he'll be just fine, Hitman," Hulk seemed nonplussed, "Anything'll pass in the morning..."

* * *

><p>"Figures this would be the only twenty-four hour pizzaria here in the Great White North," Heenan mused, staring at the flashing sign on the restaurant before them labeled PIZZA HOSERS. "Oh well, you boys know what to do?"he asked the Sheik and Volkoff.<p>

"Absolutely, Bobby," the Sheik nodded, "Snatch all the pizzas we can while you distract the staff."

"Good, see you in a minute or two," Heenan strode confidently into the pizzaria. "This way, Nikolai," the Sheik led his frequent partner around the back of the restaurant. "We go in and out quick, as many as we can handle," the Iranian reminded him.

"Yes, Comrade Sheik," the Russian nodded, "I just hope Comrade Heenan has foolproof plan to keep staff occupied."

"Oh, no need to worry, Nikolai, I think all is well," the Sheik opened the back door, from inside of which came Heenan's shouts from the front desk, "...hey pal, you're not just talking to some ham and egger here, I'm the biggest manager in all of wrestling, and either you give me one hundred anchovy, mushroom, and rutabaga pizzas this instant, you're...you're...I'm going to do something you're not going to like! I DEMAND SERVICE!"

"Yuck," the Sheik grimaced, "What idiot puts rutabagas on their pizzas? Even your typical stupid American isn't that awful with their tastes!"

"That's why I prefer our superior Central Committee-ordained wrestling diet, Comrade Sheik," Volkoff told him proudly, "Is clearly superior to anything capitalist dogs can..."

A loud crashing sound rang out; Heenan was audibly throwing items around to distract the staff. "That's our cue, Nikolai; grab as many boxes as you can," the Sheik rushed into the back and started seizing armfuls of boxes off the shelves. Volkoff did the same, and soon close to fifty boxes had been carried around and loaded into their limo, which was parked with its engine running at the curb. "This should do it, Nikolai," the Sheik seized one last handful, "Now let us get...Nikolai, what are you doing!"

"I can't help it, Comrade Sheik; I'm hungry," Volkoff had opened one of the boxes, this of a bizarrely-designed stroganoff pizza, and was happily chewing away. "Mmm, just like Momma used to make," he grinned between bites.

"Nikolai, come on, you're going to blow our cover!" the Sheik lambasted him. But their cover was already blown; the manager's head shot around the door. "Hey, what do you think you're doing!" he shouted at the Mega Mercenaries.

"Uh...midnight snack?" the Russian offered a dubious explanation.

"Nikolai, come on!" the Sheik dragged his partner out the back door at the precise moment the manager's eyes shot to his now substantially emptier shelves. "Hey, get back here you two!" he shouted, running after them. The Mega Mercenaries barrelled for the limo and dove in the open back door, slamming it shut just as Heenan waved for the driver to off, leaving the restaurant manager in the dust. "That was close," the Iranian sighed in relief.

"And now the fun begins. There's our stuff, boys," Heenan gestured to the piles of sleeping medication and Volkoff's constipation formula in front of the pizza boxes on the floor, "Let's get cracking on spiking all of these."


	6. Chapter 6

"Here, let me show you what I've been dealing with lately," Keith spread a map of Calgary over the coffee table in the den and waved Hulk, the Boss Man, and his brother and brother-in-laws closer.

"Hey Randy, you interested in this as well?" Hulk called to his fellow Mega Power, who was carefully setting up a set of brightly-wrapped boxes behind the sofa with Wayne.

"Give me a minute champ. Yeah, that'll do," Savage covered the boxes with a blanket. "Once we're done, check in on this," he told the Stampede referee, "This is an important surprise at Thanksgiving dinner, yeah."

"I'll do my best after practice," Wayne agreed.

"Hey Wayne, you done suiting up or what?" Ross called impatiently from the library next door, "And you, Keith?"

"In a minute, Ross, in a minute," Keith called back loudly. "All right," he acknowledged Savage as the Macho Man approached the coffee table and bent over the map, "Over the last month or so, we've been getting calls all through the city for fires that I think have been suspicious. But most of them seem to have been occurring around our part of town," he took a black marker and indicated dots at the site of each fire; indeed, many of the twenty-two locations he highlighted were within a two mile radius of the Hart mansion. "Whoever it is, assuming it is in fact one person or group setting them, they're smart; they move around the city and set each successive fire at a different location," he numbered each fire chronologically, and indeed they had shifted around despite the concentration in the Harts' neighborhood, "and a different type of ignition seems to be used each time; sometimes it's chemical accelerant, sometimes it's matches, sometimes it's something that looks likes explosives, et cetera."

"Yeah, come to think of it, a lots of folks seem to be moving out of the neighborhood these days," Neidhart mused, "I wonder if this means somebody's strong-arming them out?"

"Well, there's just one answer; we go to the city hall records department after Thanksgiving dinner and search it," Hulk declared, "After all, since Canada already celebrated Thanksgiving last month, it won't be closed for the holidays like it would be in America; maybe we can see who's buying up the properties and why."

"Good thinking, Hulk; from what I heard some big mysterious firm has been purchasing some land," Keith nodded.

"What are you looking at, Daddy?" came the voice of Neidhart's daughter Natalya, looking inquisitively in the door.

"Oh, just some stuff your Uncle Keith wanted us to look at, sweetheart," the Anvil gently scooped her up and gave her a kiss, "You and your sisters ready for the event tonight?"

"You betcha," she gave him a high five, "Jennifer and Kristen are ready for the practice too; are they ready yet?"

"I think so. You go on down and tell them we'll be ready in a minute," Neidhart told her, putting her back down. "My pride and joy," he told everyone else, smiling at her as she left, "She wants to go into the WWF some day too."

"She and Harry could work well together," Davey agreed. "So, are you gents all ready?" he called into the library.

"We're waiting for Wayne and Keith," Smith sounded very impatient.

"Coming, coming," Keith rolled the map back up and bustled towards the library. The rest of the physically able Hart brothers excepting Bret were now suited up in wrestling attire...and seemed in the middle of their own heated debate: "...Flair's the captain, so as the oldest, I'm playing him!" Smith was emphatically arguing.

"When I do all the work in the family? I'M Flair!" Bruce countered.

"No, you're DiBiase; you've got the moneybags scheme to keep Stampede afloat," Ross countered on him.

"All right, all right, does it really matter who plays who, guys?" Bret interceded, waving his arms.

"Well we are going for realism as best we can, Bret...a little privacy, please?" Wayne asked his brothers, who turned away so he could change, "I'm guessing I'll be the Undertaker then, Ross is Perfect since he's the perfectionist, Owen's Rude since my analysis shows Rude's the weak link in Flair's team..."

"Hey, is this because I'm the youngest?" Owen looked definitely offended at this.

"Sorry, Owen, but it's pure logic," Bruce told him firmly, "I guess that makes Keith the Snake by process of elimination."

"Well, I think he is the most colorful guy on the other team," Keith conceded, also gesturing for everyone to turn around, "And I like being colorful. But, as long as the kids like it, I suppose it doesn't really matter who's who."

"Like I was saying," Bret said quickly, not liking how frustrated Owen was still looking, "Well, let's get it on then."

* * *

><p>"AAAAAAAAAAnd, let's get ready to ruuuumbbbbbbbblllllllllleee!" Stu emphatically declared down in the Dungeon, now set up with mats from wall to wall, and the rudimentary outlines of ring posts and ropes around the perimeters. A loud cheer rose up from the rest of the Hart family and their guests from their seats along the far wall. "Uh, which of us starts?" Wayne looked around in confusion.<p>

"Well, I decided as team captain that Bret'll start for us; since it's his big homecoming, he might as well have the honor of starting the match off," Hulk explained, not noticing another flash of jealousy on Owen's face, "Now, Elizabeth and I thought over the Million Dollar Team's possible strategy as best well could, and figured they'd determine the same thing and send in Perfect first since Perfect still has that grudge going against him over the Intercontinental belt."

"OK then, here I come-perfectly," Ross leaped over the ropes and clinched up with his brother. Bret took him down with a light arm drag, visibly trying not to hurt him, and thus was unprepared when Ross nailed him hard in the chest, then floored him with a dropkick. "Ross, Ross, we're not trying to kill each other here; it's just practice for the kids!" the Hitman protested.

"But we WANT to see you guys go at it, Uncle Bret," Harry protested from the bench.

"And you said you didn't want to disappoint the kids. Here, DDT," Ross tagged Keith, who, much more gently, flattened his younger brother with a short clothesline similar to Roberts'. Bret crawled to his corner and quickly tagged Steamboat, who dished out several hard karate-style chops to Keith, then dropped with a leg sweep and a cover, which Keith kicked out of at two. "Now, knowing Roberts, he probably would have gone for the eye rake there to break it," the Dragon pointed out, whipping Keith into the ropes and missing with his own clothesline, "The man would do anything to save his skin."

"Well, since you said no blood, I decided a simple kick out would be better," Keith explained, tagging in Smith.

"Very much appreciated," Steamboat quickly blocked every one of the blows Smith threw at him in quick succession.

"In fact, I'd say we'd better be on guard all through the match, since it stands to reason Flair and his teammates will be cheating like crazy to win this one like they always do," Hulk said knowingly.

"Oh, thanks for the tip there, Hulk; well..." without warning, Smith left the rudimentary ring, walked over to the weight rack, and hefted a twenty pound hand weight. "Smith, what are you...!" Stu's inquiry came to an end as his oldest son abruptly drilled Steamboat square in the forehead with the weight, sending the Dragon down hard to the mat to a scream by Bonnie. Stu waved his arms wildly. "That's a disqualification!" he roared in Smith's face, "Didn't I train you never to do that kind of garbage!"

"Well Hogan said he wanted realism!" Smith protested.

"Not THIS real, you brute!" Bonnie was hysterical as she rushed in and helped her husband, now bleeding slightly in the forehead, up, "Rick, you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine; he didn't connect head-on," Steamboat groaned, clutching the bleeding spot.

"There's some bandages and ice upstairs; let me help you with that," shaking her head, Helen helped both Steamboats up the stairs. "Have a seat!" Stu roared at Smith, jerking a finger at the bench. Muttering under his breath, Smith stormed over and plopped down. "What!" he shouted at his sisters, all giving him harsh glares, "He'll live! And it's all part of the show; I didn't really mean it!"

"Sure, just like your lunatic ex-wife didn't mean to almost kill me in the kitchen that one time?" Alison glared him down.

"Oh sure, that was all _my_ fault that happened? I see, you love lynching me to...!"

"Well you sure didn't say anything to make her feel genuinely sorry for...!"

"SHHHH!" everyone else hissed at both of them as the action in the makeshift ring continued. Bruce was now in the ring against Savage, who blocked an attempted kick to the chest. "No, no, Bruce, I don't think that's how Ted DiBiase works in a tight situation," Elizabeth tried to tell him, "He doesn't come on full blast unless he's made mad through earlier failures..."

"Hey, I don't see you in here, missy!" Bruce snapped at her, "I think I'm perfectly qualified to know...!"

"If you don't shut up and stop talking to her that way, I'll be perfectly qualified to send your head through the ceiling, yeah!" Savage warned him, delivering a sharp elbow to Bruce's chest to drive the point home. The Macho Man dragged Bruce to the mock turnbuckle and gave him several realistic head slams into it, to loud cheers from the children. Groaning, Bruce stumbled over to his corner and tagged in Owen. "Now remember, Rude's smooth and cocky," Elizabeth tried to tell him, "He's not a rough-houser; he thinks things through; in fact, most of the Million Dollar Corporation are thinkers rather than brawlers," she told the rest of the Hart brothers as her husband and Owen locked up, "So for the rest of this, let's remember to-no, no, not like that, Owen!"

Perhaps in a venting of all the frustration he'd been put through thus far over Thanksgiving week, Owen had pressed Savage's throat into the ropes and started hammering into the back of his neck hard. "Owen, Owen, that's enough now," his father warned him, but Owen kept hammering away, making loud grunts of frustration as he did. Stu waved his arms again. "Sorry, son, but that's another disqualification for roughness," he told Owen, "What's gotten into you since...?"

"Why do you see everything I do as wrong, Dad?" Owen's voice was filled with utter frustration, "I was just trying the role they gave me...!"

"Well you failed, Owen, simple as that!" Bruce snapped at him roughly.

"Bruce, come on...!" Bret tried to intercede.

"Stay out of this, Bret!" there was more than a little jealousy in Bruce's voice as well as he rounded on his youngest brother, "You can't let the emotion get the better of you like that, you know!" he barked in his face, "It's no wonder you got kicked out of Japan; they probably couldn't stand you over there either any more than we can't either...!"

With an angry roar, Owen decked Bruce hard in the face and stormed up the stairs out of the Dungeon. "Owen...!" worried, Bret ran up after him. "Bruce, Bruce, you've got to control your temper too," Stu chided him.

"Well it's the truth, Dad..." Bruce whined.

"Teammates are supposed to stick together, Bruce, and especially teammates that are family," Hulk advised him.

"Absolutely; we'd never succeed in anything if we didn't," Andre agreed.

There came hard stomping down the stairs. "Well Bruce, Owen left; he got in his car and drove off at well over the speed limit," Bret looked absolutely livid, "I hope you're proud of yourself...!"

"I'm just telling it like it is, Bret; he's too emotional and too unstable," Bruce defended his position.

"Sure, anything to make you look better, huh, is that it, smart guy!" Bret gave Bruce a hard shove, "You've never given him the slightest of chances; in fact, I'm the only one around here who ever has!" he glared at the rest of his brothers.

"And I suppose you're an expert on that, Mr. Superstar!" Bruce shoved him hard back.

"What is that supposed to mean, Bruce!"

"You know what I mean; you had to become good and famous to make sure Stampede went under, you son of a...!" Bruce lunged at Bret and started whaling away. "Stop, it, stop it right now!" Stu rushed over and pulled his sons apart, "Not in front of the kids!"

"Right, sorry, Dad; I'm sorry," Bret told the spectators with genuine sympathy, "I lost control there." He rounded back on Bruce. "But you still owe Owen an apology when he gets back...if he comes back..."

"What's to worry, Bret; he's probably just going over to Martha's to blow off some steam like he always does," Ross proposed, "And speak of the devil," he proclaimed, hearing the doorbell ring upstairs, "That's probably him right now, coming to his senses..."

But Helen dispelled that thought when she leaned her head in the door a moment later. "Mr. Piper, your teammates are here," she called down to the Scotsman, "Something about an early training session..."

"Already?" Piper glanced in shock at his watch, "It can't be that time just yet..."

"ATTTTENNN-HUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTT!" came the sharp bark from the top of the stairs. With a hard stomping of boots, the gaunt, hard-chiseled, fatigue wearing figure of Sergeant Slaughter stomped down the stairs into the Dungeon. "On your feet, maggot," he ordered Piper, "You gave the command we would be shoving off to go over final preparations for our match at eleven hundred hours; it is now H-hour, so let's get moving, to the nearest gymnasium."

"Whatever you say, Sarge, like I said," Piper looked disappointed to be leaving the action early. "Well, I'll be shoving off for the day, then," he told the Harts and his teammates, "See you all later after the match."

"Good luck with it, Mr. Piper," Helen gave him a final commendation. "And to you as well, Sergeant," she commended Slaughter as well, "I appreciate men like you and Mr. Duggan, I believe it is, who are willing to stand up for America all over the world."

"As an alumnus of the great United States Marines, I would be treasonous if I did anything less. Till we meet again, madam," Slaughter courteously tipped his sergeant's hat to her. "Let's go, let's go!" he barked at Piper, loafing around on the Dungeon steps, "Faaaaaaall out, maggot; HUT, two, three, four; HUT, two, three, four; HUT, two, three, four...!"

All the Hart children laughed at the sight of Piper being force-marched up the steps by the former drill sergeant. "Slaughter'll make good and sure he's good and ready for the match," Andre himself whispered knowingly to the rest of the Mega Powers Team with a large grin.

"Ooooooh yeah," Savage agreed, checking his bride's watch, "Well, if it's eleven now, and assuming the Harts' Thanksgiving dinner lasts about an hour, that _should_ leave us enough time to look into the fire records before we'd have to head to the Saddledome."

"I do believe so, Randy," Hulk nodded, "But let's enjoy the Thanksgiving feast nonetheless; while I appreciate the banquets Jack Tunney arranges for the wrestlers at each Survivor Series location each year, it's good to have a home cooked one for a change."

"And you'll like it, Hulk, Mom and Dad cook up a good one," Bret stared worriedly up at the ceiling, "I just hope Owen's OK enough to come back for it..."


	7. Chapter 7

"Here we are, Comrade Blassie, sleep-inducing and bathroom-inducing pizzas," Volkoff proclaimed, holding up several stacks of the tampered pies on the sidewalk in front of the fancy restaurant Chez Caribou.

"For once, good work, Nikolai," Blassie commended him, "Now, you and the Sheik head on to the Hart Mansion; it's at this address," he wrote it down and handed it to the Russian, who, like his Iranian partner, was wearing the fake pizza delivery uniforms, "And don't screw up this part."

"Right, Freddie," the Sheik nodded firmly, "So, after lunch..."

"Right now!" his manager ordered him, "I want this taken care of now before the match!"

"All right, all right, Freddie! Come, Nikolai," the Sheik waved his partner towards their limo. "Now Nikolai, in case they get suspicious, let us go over the basic questions they might ask," the Iranian grilled him, "Size of order..."

"Forty cheese pizzas, four pepperonis, three peppers, and three mushrooms," Volkoff confidently answered.

"Total price of deal?"

"One hundred and fifteen Canadian dollars."

"Number of people in the party..."

"There are currently forty-five million hard-working Soviet citizens in Communist Party, with number set to grow exponently over the coming decades," Volkoff rambled off his government's statistics robotically.

"Nikolai!" the Sheik whacked him on the shoulder in frustration. "Don't worry, Freddie, I'll get him in shape yet," he assured his manager, "Driver, Hart Mansion."

He slammed the door behind himself, moments before the limo pulled out into traffic. "And they'd better not eat any of it on the way," Blassie grumbled to his fellow managers next to him, "If they're hung over and constipated for the tag team match...!"

"Oh well, they're on their way, and at least one pizza will be eaten by Hulk and his losers," Jimmy declared confidently, "In the meantime, let's eat."

"Lunchtime," Heenan called to the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation a little up the block. The group pushed their way into the Chez Caribou. Well dressed waiters bustled back and forth between fancy tables, where well dressed patrons were being serenaded by live classical music. "One side, everyone, I'll handle this," DiBiase confidently moved to the front of the pack. "Excuse me, sir," he greeted the maitre 'd at the front desk, "My colleagues and I would like the entire restaurant to ourselves, right now."

"Do you have reservations, sir?" the maitre 'd asked matter-of-factually.

"No, but I think you're going to do what I tell you here, so clear the restaurant; I want all these poor excuses for human beings out right now."

"I'm sorry sir, but these people have booked their reservations well in advance, and we can't evict them when they're still eating..."

"I don't think you get it; I'm the Million Dollar Man, and what I want, I get. So, I think two million dollars, translated into whatever it is in Canadian money," DiBiase gestured at Virgil, who handed him a briefcase of money, "is your price for what I want. Am I right?"

The maitre 'd opened the briefcase and oodled the money inside. "Well, in that case, we'll see what we can do for you all," he said quickly, waving several other waiters over.

"Oh I know you will," DiBiase laughed hard. "Like I always say," he said with pride to his teammates, "Even where they don't have American money, everybody has a price for the Million Dollar Man."

He laughed again. And soon, the restaurant's paying customers were grumbling as the staff forced them out the door. "...don't see what the problem is!" an elderly man was protesting loudly.

"Unexpected gas leak; it's for everyone's safety," the maitre 'd tried to explain.

"Hey, how come they're not leaving?" an well-dressed young boy pointed in frustration at the wrestlers.

"It's not your concern, peasant, so keep walking," DiBiase told him smarmily.

"Well, I never!" an elderly woman grumbled at him, "You should be ashamed of yourself!" she berated the Million Dollar Man, "Trying to maniuplate...!"

Virgil gave her a hard shove out the door. "Bye bye, Granny," DiBiase laughed yet again. "You've done well, my good man," he commended the maitre 'd, "Now, I want a full, ten course meal for all of us, with the best complementary wine in your stores. And if our meals aren't perfectly prepared, heads will roll."

"I understand, Mr. DiBiase. Here, our finest dining room is this way," the maitre 'd waved the group forward, "We hope you will enjoy our American Thanksgiving special that you requested."

"Oh I know we will, or you're not getting paid," DiBiase remind him. He causally plopped down at the head of the formally prepared table in the primary dining room. "Consider yourselves the beneficiaries of the feast," he jovially told his group, "Forget all that crap about being thankful for family or loved ones; I'm thankful for my money and what it can do for me."

"Uh, excuse me, sir, you're going to want to take your seat for the banquet," the maitre 'd told the Undertaker, who was leaning indifferently against the wall.

"My Undertaker needs no human nourishment," Bearer told him.

"I'm sorry, but he'll have to leave if he doesn't order..." the maitre 'd was cut off as the Undertaker lifted him off the ground by the collar. _"I,"_ the Deadman hissed meancingly, _"will stay." _

"Of course, sir, how silly of me; you can stay," the maitre 'd gulped and quickly bustled off. "Uh, buster, there's going to be one more here," Sherri told the head waiter, gesturing for another chair to be brought up to the table, "I have a guest coming."

"You still can't let go of managing your own stable, can you, Sherri?" Jimmy asked her knowingly.

"And why not, Hart; I'm just as good as you at it, and I refuse to just be your hitwoman for the rest of my life!" she blasted him, "I would have gotten Savage to the top if he hadn't been corrupted by that jezebel Liz; since he's no longer worth my attention, I have to find someone else, and the best option right now is..."

"A Mr. Martel to see Mrs. Martel," the maitre 'd called into the dining room right as the staff brought in the soups for the first course.

"Send him in," Sherri's face broke into a grin as the Model entered the dining room, atomizer still firmly in hand. "Miss Martel, I appreciate this offer of Thanksgiving dinner," he greeted her with a grin.

"As do I. Have a seat, Rick," she tantalyzingly gestured him into the spare seat next to her. "I'm sure you know everyone else," she waved offhanded at her teammates, "Here, have some soup," she waved the waiters to give him an extra.

"Much appreciated, much appreciated," Martel placed his atomizer next to the nearest candelbra and started slurping away. "That stuff isn't flammable in there, is it?" Rude asked worriedly from across the table, "My good looks could be ruined in an explosion..."

"You need not worry, Mr. Rude, nothing of the sort will happen," Martel assured him.

"Well anyway, Rick, I wish you luck in tonight's match against that fool Santana and his team. Of course, I know you're going to win, since you're such a genius as well as good-looking," Sherri shamelessly flattered the Model, "Have you ever thought of getting guidance for your career? I've been in this business a long time, and I can make sure you get at least one belt..."

"Funny, I still haven't seen any of the belts you promised me yet," Roberts snapped from up the table.

"Don't pay any attention to him, he's jealous," Sherri quickly told Martel, "I can take your career so far; just sign me up as your manager, and I'll..."

"I appreciate your offer of service, Miss Martel, but unfortunately I cannot accept it," the Model declined, "I have tried managers before, but none suited my unique talents just right. No, the Model works alone, for I am better that way, just my stunning good looks and I."

"But I can get you things you can't even now," Sherri wasn't ready to throw in the towel, "Lots of money, fast cars, eternal dinners in fancy restaurants like this, and especially...me," she leaned her head sensuously into his arm, "I can give you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams..."

"Oh, I do love those," Martel grinned dopily, 'But my answer is still no..."

"Then let's have one now; maybe it'll change your mind," Sherri all but leaped onto his chest and gave him a passionate kiss. "Great, while you two work out the arrangements, I'm going for a smoke," looking disgusted, Blassie rose up.

"Same here, Freddie," Jimmy jumped as well.

"Me too," Flair rose as well, also looking repulsed.

"You guys don't smoke..." Sherri frowned, but they were already out of the dining room. "It's a miracle anyone wants to work for her, going straight for the hot sex right away," Blassie growled in frustration as they stormed for the door, "It embarasses our reputations to be seen with her in public like that!"

"I know; if I'm to be seen as the REAL world's champion, I have to at least make my reputation look clean," Flair agreed, pushing open the front doors.

"Well, since she believes in what we do, might as well give her some..." Jimmy abruptly trailed off. "Say, that looks like Owen Hart over there," he pointed to the nearest bus bench. And sure enough, it was Owen, slumped forward with his head in his hands. "I've seen all the Harts in action; I'd know him anywhere," the Mouth of the South added, "He looks down."

"Hmm, but maybe, just maybe, things might be looking up for us..." a grin was spreading across Blassie's face. He approached the youngest Hart. "Well, well, Owen Hart, what a surprise seeing you here," he proclaimed. Owen spun in surprise. "Freddie Blassie," he recognized the manager, "Fancy seeing you here as well."

"We're having our big Thanksgiving dinner inside. You're welcome to join us," Flair offered, having picked up his manager's ploy.

"No thanks, I'm...I'm just waiting," Owen shook his head.

"What's the matter, kid? Trouble at home?" Jimmy inquired.

Owen sighed in frustration. "No one believes in me, not even my own family," he lamented bitterly, "No one'll give me a fair chance..."

"Well that's where you're wrong, Owen my boy; I've seen all your matches in Japan," Blassie declared sympathetically, "You were easily the best one there."

"You have?"

"Of course I have. In fact," a devious smile crossed Blassie's face, "You might even be of some help to us just now. As I guess you know, your brother's on the team that Ric's team will be facing tonight."

"Yeah, how could I not know; Mom and Dad have been going on and on about it ever since Bret's teammates said they be coming to Calgary."

"Just like them, anything for the Hitman," Jimmy sneered, "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if they were deliberately holding you back to push him ahead."

"You do?" Owen looked confused and conflicted.

"Oh yeah we do," Flair grinned deviously himself, "In fact, I heard Bret on the phone to them in the locker room the other week; said he's glad he's getting such a big push in the family; he's afraid of you and how much better than him you are; he's afraid to face you head to head, because he knows he'll lose."

"He said THAT?"

"Yep," the Nature Boy nodded firmly, "Clear as day."

"But we've got the ticket for you, Owen my boy," Blassie told him, "Ric's teammate Mr. Perfect unfortunately sprained his ankle crawling out of bed this morning; it doesn't look like he'll make it to the match. We've been looking for a replacement all day, but no one could make it until now. How'd you like to take his place?"

"Well, I..."

"Why not; we'd be glad to have you on board, Owen," Flair picked up the trick, "Why, you're easily even better than me; you would make us unbeatable, period, AND you get to show Bret face to face that you are better than him. And, if you do well enough, we could give you a high position here in the Million Dollar Corporation, and that includes an instant shot at Hogan's belt."

"You would?"

"Absolutely, champ," Blassie slapped him on the back, "We'll take you to the heights your family never wanted you to go. So is it a deal?"

He extended his hand. Owen, after a moment's pause, shook it hard. "Yeah," he nodded firmly, a look of determination crossing his face, "Yeah, this'll show everyone how good I am."

"Glad to hear that, kid. Ric, go tell the waiters to set up an extra chair at the table for our special guest," Blassie told his main wrestler. He leaned close to Flair once Owen was looking the other way and whispered in his ear, "Tell Perfect to make himself scarce until the match tonight; I don't want any chance that something this golden gets ruined."

"You got it, Freddie," Flair skipped towards the restaurant, letting out a celebratory, "WOOOOOOOO!" just before he disappeared inside. No sooner did he leave than a man in a brown hat and trench coat hopped out of a police cruiser nearby and bustled towards the three remaining men. "Pardon me, gentlemen, are either of you a Mr. James Hart?" he asked them.

"I am," the Mouth of the South stepped forward.

"Mr. Hart, I'm Inspector Lester of the Calgary R.C.M.P.," he flashed his badge, "I believe you are the manager of one Brian Knobbs and one Jerome Saggs?"

"Yep, I manage the Nasty Boys; what about them?"

"They're in our custody right now for vandalizing a McDonald's across town a half hour ago," Inspector Lester explained.

"Wait, that has to be some kind of mistake," Jimmy protested, "I keep a tight lid on my wrestlers; they wouldn't..."

"We have the testimony of multiple witnesses," Lester flipped out his notepad, "They all state that at approximately eleven thirty this morning, Mr. Knobbs and Mr. Saggs entered the McDonald's in question and ordered a full course meal. After receiving said meal, they started shouting that they had been sizably overcharged for it; when the staff at the McDonald's attempted to point out the charges on the meal were in fact correct, Mr. Knobbs and Mr. Saggs took it upon themselves to, in their sworn own words, 'Nastycize' the restaurant. Said actions in the course of 'Nastycizing' the establishment included overturning tables and chairs, smashing all the windows, and spray-painting both the walls and the employees. They were taken into custody with the use of tasers and are being held on fifty thousand dollars bail."

"All right, officer, I'll get the money so you can spring them," Jimmy sighed in frustration. He leaned close to Blassie and whispered to him, "I hope Ted has enough holiday cheer to part with the money."

"He will, for his favorite manager," Blassie assured him. "We'll handle this," he told Lester, "You wait out here; we'll have the bail money for you in two minutes. And as for you, come on in," he took Owen by the hand and led him into the restaurant, "From now on, you're one of us."

* * *

><p>"That turkey smells terrific, Mr. Hart," Tito called towards the kitchen.<p>

"It's almost done; have a seat," Stu called back into the dining room.

"You got it," looking ready for the feast, Tito sat down on the left side of the middle of three tables that had been set up in the dining room to accomodate everyone. "So, you were saying," he turned back to Diana next to him, "Davey turned into an overnight baseball sensation after he came over?"

"Right after," the Bulldog's bride nodded, "Stampede was having a charity game, and he really didn't know how the game worked, even though Tom explained it to him..."

"I know enough about rounders, so it wasn't too big a stretch," Davey broke in, "Still, I struck out the first few times at the plate. Tom gave me a choice of bats, I picked one that looked right, and with Diana eagerly cheering for me to do it..."

"Loud enough to shatter every pane of glass within a mile of the stadium," Bret cut in, "I know because she was the only cheering for him at that point..."

"And since he hit it out of the park on the first pitch, I'd say it was more than worth it," Diana defended her actions, taking her husband by the arm.

"I guess so, sis," Bret leaned over her shoulder and silently mouthed at Tito, "_Left-handed bat_." The door to the dining room slid open. "Dinner is ready," Stu proudly declared, carrying a very large turkey to the middle of the table. "Now THAT is a well done turkey, Mr. Hart," Hulk commended him from the seat directly next to the wrestling legend.

"He spends all Thanksgiving morning working on it, so it always turns out well," Georgia smiled at her father.

"OK then, let's dig in," Dean eagerly grabbed his knife and fork.

"Now Dean, this is Thanksgiving, at least in America; we should take a moment and give thanks," his mother scolded him.

"You said it, Mrs. Hart," Hulk obligingly bowed his head, as did everyone at the table. "Lord," Helen began the invocation, "We thank you on this special day for allowing us to be in the presence of our friends and loved ones, for the bounty you have set before us, for all that we have accomplished in the previous year. We pray that you continue to guide us all in the right as you see fit in the year to come. Amen."

"Let's eat," Smith grabbed the carving knife and started to slice at the turkey. "Hold on there, ace," Savage took hold of his hand, "I've got something I'd like to do first. Give me a hand with this," he instructed Wayne, who obligingly rose up and followed him out into the living room, where the Macho Man's boxes had been hidden before. "Come on, hurry it up, I'm hungry!" Smith whined into the living room.

"So what else is new with you?" Ellie grumbled at him.

"Hey I don't appreciate the hostility, Ellie; if you would...!"

"Wait, is something burning?" Keith sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Don't be alarmed, pal, we're just getting set in here," Savage called back, "And now we're ready."

"Ready for what, Randy?" Hulk called at him.

"I know we celebrated it on the day itself last week, champ, but I figured since we'd almost all be together here for this today, we'd do it again for a larger audience, yeah. So, everyone together: happy birthday to you..." he pushed the door open, allowing Wayne to enter with a three-leveled birthday cake, candles aglow on top, "...happy birthday to you (most of the diners did in fact join in), happy birthday, dear Elizabeth; happy birthday to you."

"Oh Randy; thank you so much," she blushed as the cake was set directly in front of her.

"You're worth doing it a second time for," he gave her a kiss on the cheek to the loud applause of the Hart children, "Now make a wish..."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out the candles, this time to the applause of everyone except a bored Smith and Dean. "And that ain't all, because we got some presents too, yeah," Savage hefted a large box wrapped in green paper, "I figured this was the best one, so you can open it first."

Elizabeth tore open the package. "Oh..." she exclaimed, pulling out an impressive fur coat.

"And it's completely synthetic; no animals were killed in the making of this beauty, so you can wear it without guilt and with pride. Let's take a look here," Savage slipped it onto his wife, "Oooh yeah, that looks great indeed."

"Yeah, you look terrific, Miss Elizabeth," Jade applauded from her seat.

"I guess I do," Elizabeth admired herself in the mirror, "Thank you Randy."

She gave him a kiss back. "I got more, but I'll save it till after dinner," the Macho Man told her, helping her back to her seat, "Now, let's eat."

"I'm up for that," Hulk glanced around the table, which also contained the usual trappings of Thanksgiving besides the turkey: mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, cranberry sauce, muffins, cornbread, and pies. It was a feast he was going to enjoy, he knew.

But before he could serve himself, the doorbell rang. "I've got it," Georgia got up and bustled over to the door. "Can I help...?" she opened it.

"Hi, we're, like, from Pizza Hosers, eh?" the Sheik, with dark glasses and a false beard to disguise himself, said in the best stereotypical Canadian accent he could manage, "Here's the pizzas you ordered, eh?"

"Happy Thanksgiving, capitalist Canadian brothers, eh?" Volkoff added, shoving his stack of pizza boxes into Georgia's hands, an action the Sheik immediately copied. Both men immediately beat a quick retreat. "Wait, there must be some mistake, we didn't order any...!" Georgia's cries were in vain, as the Mega Mercenaries' limo-now with the words PIZZA HOSERS crudely spray-painted on the side-burned rubber up the street. Shaking her head, she carried as many boxes as she could into the dining room. "Anyone order these?" she asked her fellow guests.

"No, not that I know of," Stu frowned.

"Who cares; it's more food. Bring it in here," Dean waved his arms wildly.

Before anyone else could say anything, the doorbell immediately rang yet again. "Again?" Georgia sighed, storming back towards the door, "Well, I do hope they have an explanation..."

"Maybe it's not them; maybe it's Owen finally come to his senses," Ross suggested. As it turned out, though, it wasn't the Mega Mercenaries or Owen waiting outside this time. "Good afternoon," said a mustached man in a gray hat and coat, "May I speak to Mr. Hart?"

"Uh, Dad, it's for you," Georgia hesitantly called back in to him. Frowning deeper, Stu approached the door. "What do you want?" he asked wearily.

"Mr. Hart, I am J.L. Corcoran, zoning board officer, and it is my duty to serve you with this foreclosure notice," the man shoved it into his hand. Stu stared in shock at the form before him. "I, I don't understand..." he mumbled.

"You signed this property over to the Second Canadian National Bank earlier in the week," Corcoran told him matter-of-factually.

"I didn't sign anything!" rage flashed in Stu's eyes, "I don't know what this is all about, but I had no intention of selling this place..."

"Darling, what's going on?" concerned, Helen approached the door as well.

"Let me ask you, Mr. Hart, is this your signature?" Corcoran extended a form towards Stu. Stu dug out reading glasses and squinted at it. "Well, it does look a lot like my signature," he conceded, "But this says I'm signing this house over to the bank for development; I certainly didn't do that!"

"Well, since you agree this is your signature, I'm afraid the decision is binding; you hereby have twenty-four hours to vacate these premises before it is demolished," Corcoran turned to leave.

"Hey you!" livid, Stu grabbed his arm, "You're not going anywhere! You're not tearing my house down! I didn't sell it, do you hear me!"

"Mr. Hart, if you do not let go of me, I may be forced to take harsh measures against you," Corcoran told him firmly.

"Well I'm not letting go!" the legendary wrestler tightened his grip, "I want all this erased, or...!"

Without warning, two large, hulking men rushed forward from behind Corcoran and belted Stu hard in the face. "Stop it!" Helen half-shrieked as they pounded her husband roughly down to the ground, "Leave him alone!"

"She said leave him alone!" Bret rushed forward to defend his father as well and tried to pry the men off of him. The larger man picked him up and hurled him halfway across the yard. "Enough," Corcoran told his goons, who got up off a now slightly black and blue Stu. "Twenty-four hours, Mr. Hart, then the bulldozers come in," he gave him one final warning.

"So everything better be outside by then-but we'll give you a head start with these," the goons eagerly grabbed for the pizza boxes, taking all but one (which Smith was busy devouring in the first place) out with them as they and Corcoran strode merrily off. "Dad, you all right?" grimacing, Bret rushed over to help him up.

"Yeah, just my pride," Stu groaned, "But I have no idea what this was all about...!"

"Dad, what's going on?" Diana looked deeply concerned herself as she approached and put an arm around her father, "Did he say the house had been signed over...?"

"I never signed anything; this is some sort of trick or sick joke!" Stu insisted.

"Well, darling, I think we can rule out a joke," Helen was looking up the street, down which a bulldozer was coming, its engine snarled ominously, "I think they do mean to evict us. But why?"

"If I may, Mrs. Hart," Hulk, having listened in on the whole conversation, "After dinner, my friends and I would be glad to help find out exactly what's going on here for you."

"So would I, Hulk, because between what happened to Marcia's house last night, and Keith's worries about a major arsonist on the loose," Bret glanced up the block past the arriving bulldozer, "I think somebody's up to something illegal to get all the properties in the neighborhood..."


	8. Chapter 8

"Thanks for everything, and you have a happy Thanksgiving, even if you already celebrated it up here," Hulk said in closing, hanging up the phone. "Well," he turned to the Harts, still seated at the dining room table, but now visibly in no mood to eat, "There's good news and bad news. The good news," he stepped aside to allow Bret to pick up the phone and starting dialing a number of his own, "I called the Calgary zoning board; there doesn't seem to be anyone named J.L. Corcoran working for them, so it's possible that we can prove this is a scam on that alone."

"I don't know, chief," the Boss Man shook his head, "More than anything, we'd have to prove Mr. Hart's signiture's a fake."

"Yeah, well, that's the bad news," Hulk said sadly, "I also called the Second Canadian National Bank; they say the deal is final, that the signiture was put onto one of their formal transaction sheets and verified, and they are within their rights to foreclose on the Hart Mansion."

The silence that greeted his words was almost deafening. "I can hardly believe it's come to this," Alison finally broke the silence, sounding choked up, "I didn't want to see this place go like this-I thought it would still be a long time, till after Mom and Dad...there's got to be something we can do to save this place...!"

"Well like I said, first and foremost, let's prove this signiture is a forgery," the Boss Man laid the bank transaction form on the table, then gestured at Diana for a spare piece of paper. "Mr. Hart, can I have your signiture for comparison?" he asked Stu.

"Oh certainly," Stu fished out a pen and signed his name on the paper as equal in size to the one on the bank transaction form. "OK then," the former prison guard placed the papers side by side and squinted hard at them. "All right," he said after a moment's pause, "I think we do have enough proof here to convince a judge of forgery." He waited for the numerous sighs of relief to end before continuing, "Notice if you will a larger ridge between the H and A in Mr. Hart's last name in this newer one, a much narrower U in his first name, and a decidedly taller T at the end."

"Let me see, let me see," Helen rifled through the nearest drawer for a magnifying glass, then held it over the papers. "Oh yes, oh yes, Mr. Traylor, I see exactly what you mean," she exclaimed happily, "Well then, let's call the police and the bank and get this stopped..."

"Not likely just yet, Mrs. Hart," the Boss Man shook his head, "Not without knowing who ordered your husband's signiture forged to get this house."

"Well, that's not the only bad news right now," Bret looked very worried as he hung up the phone, "Owen's not at Martha's; she hasn't seen him since he got in from Japan. I think I'd better go out and look for him; who knows what he's doing now..."

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little, Bret; has he ever once thought of ending it even when things got as bad as they are now?" Ross tried to dissaude him.

"Well I'd rather play it safe, Ross; after all, he certainly was put through an awful lot of misery this afternoon," the Hitman glared coldly at Bruce as he reached for his coat on the wall, "I'm going to look for him, and neither you nor anyone else can talk me out of it." He approached his son and daughter, who'd been sitting gloomily against the wall ever since the eviction notice had been delivered. "You two want to go with me on this?" he asked them, "I know we haven't done too much together lately, and you could help your uncle a lot with this..."

"Sure," both Jade and Dallas's faces lit up as they rushed to get their coats as well. Bret looked almost relieved. "It makes me feel so much better to come home and see they don't bear any grudges," he confided in his parents, "I'll be back at five if we don't find him; that way I'll still be in time to get ready for the Survivor Series tonight; I'll call if anything comes up. Good luck on your end too, everyone," he wished well to his teammates.

"You know it, Hitman, oh yeah," Savage gave him a thumbs up. OK then," he said once Bret had left with his children to search for Owen, "I guess the big question, Mr. Hart, is, who would have had access to your signiture to memorize it well enough to almost copy it exactly, and who would hate you enough to want to do it?" he asked Stu.

"Well, Mr. Savage, I don't rightly know," Stu scratched his head, "I don't have any enemies, unless you count any disgruntled Stampede fans that are still mad I sold the promotion to Jack Tunney-but I'd think by now they'd be over that."

"Hmm," Savage mused, staring around the table suspiciously at the rest of the Hart family, "I'd have to wonder, then..."

"Wait a minute, are you suggesting _we_ forged Dad's name?" Ellie looked offended, "How dare you, Mr. Savage; I love this house as much as the next person, and...!"

"Ellie dear, I don't think he was accusing you," Stu tried to comfort her.

"Oh yes he was; I could see it in his eyes, Dad," she protested.

"Well, if we must go down that road, Mr. Savage does have a good point," Stu scanned his family as well, "Just for the record, do any of you have anything you'd like to tell me now?"

No one said a word, although a few Hart children shuffled around quickly in their seats. "Very well, but I sincerely hope none of you is keeping something from me," Stu warned them all. He turned back to the Boss Man. "What should we do now, Mr. Traylor?"

"Well, the bank seems to be the best bet; I say we pay them a visit," the former prison guard declared, "They may well know more than they're letting on too, so..."

"Uh, not you and I, amigo," Tito informed him with a long face, "Like Piper, we agreed to go over the match tonight with our teammates on the Mighty Matadors at two..."

He pointed at the clock, which now read quarter to two. "Blast it!" the Boss Man grumbled in disgust. "Well, you guys promise to keep me informed," he told the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, "You see anything suspicious going down, let me know, and I'll get my brother cops on it in no time."

"I don't doubt that, Boss Man," Hulk nodded. "I don't think it's just the bank, though," he mused out loud, "Sure, they'd get all the properties in Calgary in foreclosure and profit dearly off that, but where would they go from there? I wager some other company or organization made a deal with them, to get the properties for them, and with the agreement they'd strongarm out the holdouts."

"That makes logical sense," Keith nodded, "But who?"

"That's what we're going to find out right now," Hulk told him, "Come on, guys," he told his teammates, "We're going to pay the Second Canadian National Bank a little visit."

"And how do you suppose we get access to the files, Hulkster?" Andre inquired.

"Don't you worry, big guy; all they'd have to do is take one look at you lumbering towards them and they'll give us anything we want, yeah," the Macho Man said with a chuckle.

"Well, we'll come up with something, Andre; I'm open to suggestions," Hulk took a more realistic approach. "Jim, stay by the phone here," he instructed the Anvil, "If you don't hear from us by five, give the Boss Man and the police a call."

"What, you think this might actually be dangerous, Hulk?" Diana looked concerned her husband could be stepping into harm's way.

"Just a precaution, dear; I don't think anything would actually go that wrong," Davey assured her.

"Just be careful, Daddy," Harry begged him, "I really wanted to see you wrestle tonight..."

"And so you shall, champ," the Bulldog hugged his son. "Well, shall we?" he asked his teammates.

"Let's do it," looking pumped up, Hulk led his teammates in the evening's main event to the hallway to get their coats. "We'd better get going too, Mr. Hart, Mrs. Hart," Tito rose up as well, "Hope you enjoy the show."

"We'll do our best," Helen told him. Once everyone had left, she turned to her husband. "I'm worried, Stu; this looks bigger than we'd thought," she mused, "And I'm with Bret in hoping Owen is OK..."

* * *

><p>"That's it, Owen my boy, give it to him full blast; don't hold back!" Blassie roared in approval. He was standing at the edge of a set of mats set up on the floor of his penthouse suite, watching Owen clobbering Virgil on the mats with elbow drop after elbow drop. "Yeah, that's right; no mercy, no mercy!" the Classy One urged him on, "I want to see blood!"<p>

Virgil roared in dissention and shoved Owen off him. He charged forward for a forearm smash, but Owen ducked under it and felled the bodyguard with a dropkick. He then leaped up onto the nearby sofa, measured Virgil as he got up, then jumped backwards in a spectacular moonsault, dropping Virgil hard again. With DiBiase-and indeed the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation, sans Perfect, who had left early for the Saddledome as part of Blassie's plan-laughing in delight on the sideline, Owen grabbed Virgil's legs and began twisting them into the Sharpshooter. With a howl of pain, Virgil instantly tapped out. "Don't stop, don't stop," Blassie advised him, "They can turn on you once you let go; make sure he's completely beaten."

Owen nodded and tightened the Sharpshooter until Virgil was screeching in agony. "OK, that's good," Blassie told him, and Owen as such finally released an agonized Virgil, "Brilliant kid, that's a better Sharpshooter than your brother could ever do."

"Well, that's good to know," Owen looked quite pleased.

"You've really got what it takes, baby," Jimmy commended him as well, "Now, you'll probably do great with it, but let's see what you can do against Earthquake. Go on, Quake baby, give him your best."

"He's nothing," Earthquake declared confidently, stomping onto the mats. He lunged straight at Owen, but Owen slipped under his legs and delivered a hard dropkick to the larger man's back. Earthquake stumbled forward, but remained on his feet. He picked Owen up when he rushed towards him and tossed him hard towards the wall. "Don't let it rattle you, don't let it rattle you," Blassie encouraged him, "Let the anger out, kid; let every nasty thing your family said against you power you up; let the rage make you strong."

With a roar of rage, Owen rushed at Earthquake and plowed head-first into his kneecaps. Stunned, Earthquake stumbled backwards again and this time did fall over. Before he could get up, Owen picked up his legs and cracked them like a whip, making Earthquake howl. He then twisted the legs into the Sharpshooter again and held it tight until Earthquake tapped out in pain. The Million Dollar Corporation applauded loudly. "Beautiful, beautiful," Heenan slapped Owen's hand, "Welcome to the Corporation, Owen Hart; you've earned it."

"You mean I'm in?" Owen's eyes went wide.

"Absolutely; you've done things most wrestler can't do," Sherri chimed in, "Welcome to the high life, Owen, and tonight, the world gets to know how good you really are."

"Well, I...I don't know what to say," Owen blushed, "I'm...I'm just so glad everyone here appreciates me..."

"Absolutely, kid; we couldn't appreciate you any more than we do now," Blassie told him with a huge grin, "You wait right here, we're, uh, going to call Jack Tunney and tell him we've selected you to replace Mr. Perfect tonight. Let's go, gents...and Ms. Martel."

He waved the other managers (who were quickly joined by DiBiase and a still limping Virgil) into the bedroom. "Didn't I say this was a brilliant idea?" Blassie told them all with a large grin, "Now we have a great safety net in place in case the Sheik and Nikolai's pizza delivery failed."

"And we get payback on the Hart family for luring the Hart Foundation away from me," Jimmy declared, "So, then, what do we do with the little idiot after Survivor Series?"

"Oh, we'll have use for him, Jimmy," DiBiase assured his manager, "He'll be working for me after tonight...as my own personal slave-no offense meant, Virgil," he raised his hand at his bodyguard, who looked ready to raise a strong objection to the subject.

"Isn't that a little harsh, Mr. DiBiase?" Bearer asked him, "A slave in today's day and age...?"

"Why not, Paul? I AM the Million Dollar Man, and I've wanted to own a slave for a long time now, to show those peons in the stands just how powerful I really am," DiBiase laughed diabolically, "That dope may think he's getting a big break, but he'll be working for me from now on till the day he dies."

"You're a sick, sick man, Ted. But I like it," Blassie laughed as well. "Well, I said I was going to make a phone call," he picked up the nearest phone and started dialing, "Better let Vincenelli know we have a strong backup plan in effect..."

* * *

><p>"Can I help you sir?" the teller at the downtown Calgary branch of the Second Canadian National Bank asked Hulk as he approached her desk.<p>

"Yes," I'd like to speak with the bank president about an important matter concerning the presumed transfer of the Hart Mansion to this institution," Hulk told her.

"I'm sorry sir, Mr. Baldwin has already left for the day," the teller shook her head.

"Already?" Hulk glanced at the nearest clock, which was read only three o'clock.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Baldwin is a very busy man," the teller droned matter-of-factually.

"Well, could you tell me how to call him? I suspect and Mr. Hart suspects that the transaction of the Hart Mansion to this bank was fraudulant," the world champion pressed her, "He needs to know..."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the matter with the Hart Mansion has already been finalized; it's slated to be demolished and drilling initiated in the next few days."

"Wait, drilled?" Hulk's eyes furled, "Drilled for what?"

"Next," the teller was paying no attention to him, waving forward the next customer. "Good day, sir," she told him firmly, jerking a finger towards the door, where the rest of the Mega Powers Team (excluding Davey, who by the sign out front couldn't bring Mathilda into the bank) stood. Sighing, Hulk walking over towards them. "Nice, friendly Canadians my foot; she was as rude as they come," he complained to her, "But her tongue slipped; there's something under the house they want to drill."

"Real interesting, yeah," Savage mused, a light coming on in his eye, "So how do you propose we find out more, then?"

"I have a plan," Hulk bustled out of the bank. "Say Davey," he called to the British Bulldog, "we need a diversion. Would you be willing to turn Mathilda completely loose for our benefit?"

"Well, ordinarily I'd be loath to undo all the obedience training I've put her through, Hulk, but since Mr. Hart's very much a second father to me, I suppose just this once couldn't hurt," Davey agreed. "All right, girl," he bent down to be face to face with Mathilda, "Just go crazy in there. But please don't bite anyone, or wreck too much; other than that, just go to your heart's content. Got it?"

Mathilda huffed excitedly. "Do this right, and I'll see you have an extra bone tonight," her master unhooked her leash, "All right, tear the place up."

Snarling, Mathilda barrelled through the door Hulk was holding open for her, and soon the bank patrons were screaming and running around as the bulldog rushed pell-mell all over the lobby, barking at everyone in sight and knocking over tables. In the confusion, Hulk waved everyone-now Davey included-towards the closed door with the nametag ALEXANDER G. BALDWIN, PRESIDENT painted on the glass at the far end of the lobby. "Andre, make sure no one comes in," he instructed the Giant, who obligingly stood square in the doorframe, blocking the office to all outsiders. "Let's try and be in and out as quick as we can," Hulk advised everyone else.

"Not to complain, Hulk, but doesn't this constitute illegal search and seizure?" Steamboat had to ask, nonetheless opening the drawers of the filing cabinets against the wall.

"Well, going by the Boss Man's rule of thumb in searching, Ricky, I'd say that probable cause would allow this," the world champion rationalized, rifling through Baldwin's desk drawers.

"Now let's just hope he does know something, so we're not wasting our time and thus taking a terrible risk," Elizabeth did seem rather nervous as she helped Steamboat go through the filing cabinets. "You know, it's hard to believe one of the Hart kids could have forged their father's name to get rid of the house, if Randy was right with that suggestion earlier," she remarked, scanning the papers in one folder, then putting it back in place, "They may fight sometimes, but they still seem like too close a family to commit that kind of betrayal. Is there more to it than that, Davey?"

"Well," the British Bulldog mused, pushing several large portraits on the wall aside, looking for a hidden safe, "I wouldn't put it past Ellie, personally-when she bears a grudge, she bears a GRUDGE-but then again, she is Mr. Hart's favorite daughter, so the more I do think about it, I couldn't really see her doing this to him."

"How about Smith the slacker; I wouldn't put it past him either," Savage snorted, helping Hulk go through the desk drawers.

"Maybe," Davey nodded, "He always is in search of a quick dollar, that's for sure. If we only knew what the payout was for..."

"I think I just found it," Hulk announced. He pulled out a set of diagrams as everyone else gathered around him. "Look at this," he pointed at the topmost paper, which was a map of Calgary-and the entire neighborhood around the Hart Mansion was covered by a large black blotch, "half of Calgary is over top of a major undiscovered oil field."

"Let me see," Davey snatched the paper off of Hulk. His eyes widened as he took everything in. "Yes, this does explain a lot," he reasoned, "They'd have to get the property rights to drill, and if the owners wouldn't sell-and certainly Mr. Hart wouldn't let go of the house his kids grew up in before he died-the oil company would have to force them out; burning houses down or blowing them up would fit the bill."

"Speaking of which, look what we got here," Savage pulled some copper wiring and gears out of another desk drawer, "I'd figure Mr. Baldwin has the only master key to the bank, so it would be easy to come in after closing time, turn off all the cameras, and built a nice little bomb to blow up the house across the street from the Hart mansion, yeah."

"Look what it says here," Steamboat picked up another paper off Hulk's stack, "'Dear Mr. Baldwin: board of directors greatly appreciates your participation in helping us gain the drilling sites as quickly as possible; have made sure police will not find anything out on our end. Once drilling begins, expect forty percent windfall profit for your services,' signed F.A. Norton, chairman, Omnipresent Oil, Canadian Branch."

"Oh yeah, good old Omnipresent Oil, the most corrupt oil company of them all, no matter what country they operate in," Savage rolled his eyes in disgust, "Always seizing private citizens' properties without asking, bribing everyone they can, blowing up environmental groups' headquarters-I know they did that to the Greenpeace office in San Francisco; you name the law, they've broken it ten times over, yeah."

"Look what he says here," Elizabeth shivered as she read more of the memo, "He tells Baldwin to feel free to hire whatever vigilantes he can if people have to be beaten into submission to sell; I bet one of those vigilantes blew up the neighbor's house...how sick can you get?"

"Taking a look at DiBiase, I got a pretty good idea, Elizabeth," her husband pointed out, "Too bad he ain't tied up in this; it would be a big plus to the fans if he got locked up for a couple decades..."

"Well, right now, we can lock Baldwin and Norton up with this," Hulk declared, "OK Andre, give us cover; we're out of here," he called to the Giant.

"I think we'll be staying a while longer, Hulk," Andre sounded disappointed as he walked slowly backwards into the office. Hulk saw exactly why a moment later: a dozen or so man dressed in S.W.A.T. team style black uniforms stood outside the office, heavy guns drawn. "All right, hands up, all of you," demanded the apparently leader of the squad, "You're all coming with us."


	9. Chapter 9

"Uh, sorry, officers," Hulk said quickly, placing the incriminating documents back in the desk, "We, uh, had an appointment to..."

"Don't give us the dog and pony show; come on with us, now," ordered the squad leader, cocking his gun again. With long expressions, the Mega Powers Team raised their arms and walked out the door. "You're making a mistake," Andre tried to reason with them, "We think your boss is up to no good..."

"And you were breaking into his office just now, so that evens it out. And don't think we're scared of you when we're armed, big guy," another security official warned him. Indeed, Andre made no attempt to resist with eight separate security guards holding him at gunpoint. "Beat it, you mutt," the leader snapped at a barking Mathilda along side him, kicking at her. Although he didn't make contact, Mathilda still ran off yelping out the door and up the street. "Hey!" Davey lambasted the man, "You don't treat animals like that, especially my own pet!"

"Shut it and get in the back," the leader gestured to the open back of a paddy wagon parked out front. "Something ain't right here," Savage mused suspiciously, nonetheless climbing into the back with guns pointed at his head, "One, these guys seem a lot more heavily armed for your everyday bank guards, and two, this was an awful quick response time, like there was some kind of silent alarm in there."

"I know, Randy, but what more can we...?" Hulk paused briefly as the doors were closed and solidly locked behind them all. "Well," he continued, "If they're just taking us to jail, we simply tell the cops everything, and we'll turn the tables."

"And besides, Mathilda'll head right back to the Hart Mansion anyway," Davey seemed optimistic, so I think we can..."

"Do you smell that?" Elizabeth looked very worried. She sniffed hard at the air. Hulk did the same, and got the same whiff-and heard a hissing sound that wasn't quite right either. "Gas!" he gasped, "They're gassing us!"

Indeed, he could just make out clouds of smoke jetting from vents along the ceiling. The champion rushed to the door of the paddy wagon, which was now moving very fast, and pounded on it. "Andre, come on, you can break this down!" he begged the Giant. Andre, however, having already apparently gotten too big of a blast of the gas, had slumped to the floor, coughing hard. And Hulk's head was spinning as well; it only took him several seconds to completely pass out.

* * *

><p>"Something's definitely gone wrong," Bonnie looked deathly worried back in the living room of the Hart Mansion, glancing up at the grandfather clock in the corner, now reading quarter after five.<p>

"I know," next to her on the sofa, Diana looked equally worried, "He usually does call afterwards; Bret makes sure of it..."

She sighed anxiously. "I'm sure you know the feeling, worrying about your husband's safety every time he steps into the ring," she admitted to the Dragon's bride, who nodded knowingly, "But you assume that the danger at least ends when he steps outside the ring; never would you think..."

"I think you're both overreacting," Bruce was calmer by the door, "They went a good distance across town; traffic's probably a little heavy..."

"No way, pal," Neidhart was pacing the floor nervously, "I roomed with Davey a lot on the road when the Hart Foundation was active; this is trouble."

"So let's call the cops then," Alison proposed from the fireplace, nervously rocking baby Brooke in her arms, "Have them case the bank for..."

"For what?" Bruce posed, "We don't even know what we'd be sending..."

The doorbell rang, followed by the door swinging open. "See, that's probably them right now," the second oldest Hart child declared. It turned out, however, to be Bret and his children. "Nothing," the Hitman mused grimly, wiping snow from his coat, (a light dusting had fallen outside) "I called everyone Owen knows, I searched half the city; absolutely no sign of him."

"Nothing, darling?" Helen looked just as worried as she and the rest of the Harts filed into the living room.

"Nope," her most famous son sighed sadly, "I hope he hasn't..."

He visibly choked up. "Now darling, don't you worry about that," his mother put her arm around him, "Your brother will be fine; we'll find him in no time. Perhaps we should just call the police now, Stu," she called to her husband in the parlor next door.

"First we call them for Davey; he and the others haven't come back or called yet either," Diana told her brother, "I just know something's gone wrong."

"Is that so?" Bret looked just as worried, "OK, well, yeah, we should call the cops for that immediately; then we should go to the bank and see if there's anything there..."

The doorbell rang again. "Please be one of them, please be one of them," the Hitman muttered desperately under his breath as he rushed to the door and thrust it open. "Oh dear God..." he groaned in frustration instead, for standing outside now, the snow starting to melt his face paint somewhat, was the Ultimate Warrior. "I must see Hulk Hogan now!" the captain of the Ultimate Warriors demanded.

"He's not here, Warrior, and this isn't the best time...!" Bret tried to dissuade him.

"Oh, it's you," Harry leaned past his uncle, looking excited, "I like you; you're exciting to watch."

"Maybe to you, but I'm not so sure," Dallas moved alongside his cousin and frowned. "Dad says you don't treat the kids very well," he told the Warrior.

"The young fans love me!" the Warrior insisted, thrusting his hands wildly in the air, "I gain my powers from them; I get my strength to...!"

"So the gods don't matter anymore, Warrior?" Bret said as calmly as he could manage, "And speaking of the kids, you may say they give you strength, but what about that terminally ill boy a few weeks ago you had thrown out of the tunnel to the arena so you could make an unhindered entrance, even though he'd been waiting hours for your autograph there?"

"I remember no such moment!" the Warrior insisted, "I remember only the cheers of the crowd...!"

"Of course, because you edit that to be all you hear, but I know full well you don't appreciate them, that you've got an ego as big as Alberta and just use them to get ahead," Bret thrust a finger in the Warrior's face, "And why am I not surprised you came here alone, given you've hardly even trained with your team this month at all, as if they're mere pawns to help get you ahead tonight? Now, if you don't have anything important to say, we have a crisis here...!"

"Tonight, I will be victorious, and when I am standing in the ring alone, triumphant, Hogan will know I must join him!" the Warrior insisted wildly, waving his arms around as if he was possessed, "It is my destiny to...!"

A barking sound rang out up the block, getting louder and louder. "Mathilda," Bret recognized his brother-in-law's pet, which looked rather winded as she rushed past the Warrior through the front door. "Goodbye, Warrior," Bret quickly slammed the door in his face, then bent down to the bulldog's level. "Mathilda, you know where Davey and the others are, don't you?" he asked her.

Mathilda barked loudly. "OK, well, why don't you take us to them?" the Hitman's spirits rose. "Jim, come on, you and I'll follow her from here," he told his former tag team partner, ignoring the Warrior pounding on the door behind him.

"Can't we go with you this time too, Dad?" Jade looked disappointed.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but this looks like it might be a bit dangerous, and your mother would never forgive me if anything would happen to either of you," he told her, nonetheless looking a little regretful, "But when you get to the Saddledome with Grandpa and Grandma, see if you can find the Big Boss Man and tell him to call out the cops."

"Or we could just call them now," Georgia pointed out.

"Yes, yes, actually I think that would be better, but still get to the Boss Man at the arena," Bret directed them.

"And what if you're not back in time for the match?" Ross had to point out.

"Well Ross, I think my teammates' safety basically trumps the match," Bret told him firmly.

"Absolutely," Stu finally entered the living room, dressed in a referee uniform, "So everyone get your coats on; we'd better head over right now and tell Mr. Traylor; Bret, maybe I can get Jack Tunney to hold the match until you get back. Everyone ready for...?" he glanced around the room with a frown, "Has anyone seen Smith and Dean lately?"

* * *

><p>"Could you hurry and up and make the call!?" Dean hissed sharply at Smith inside the broom closet, "I can hear them getting ready to go out there...!"<p>

"I'm on the line right now; they're taking too long to take me off of hold!" Smith barked back, "It's not my fault your stupid dialysis machine's too loud!"

"Well if you'd made the call earlier to lock in our wagers, we wouldn't have to be in this fix right now!" his younger brother berated him.

"I couldn't call then, Dean; not with the uproar after that guy came by to evict us from the house!" the oldest Hart child retorted, tapping his feet impatiently on the floor, "And you know, everyone's going to suspect we forged Dad's name to get the money; I couldn't call in the bets at that point-come on, come on!" he growled over the line, which still had him on hold.

"Why don't we just tell them that...?"

"You know them, Dean; they'd never believe a word we'd say, even if they knew it was the truth, and if they knew we were in a hundred thousand dollar hole from all the other bets we've made on WWF action that didn't pan out, they'd lock us up without a second thought. So hopefully everyone we pick wins tonight; then we can get out of this before we...thank god," he breathed a sigh of relief as the line clicked to life. "Thank you for calling Grand National Wrestling Wager Services, this is the Doctor of Style Slick speaking," crowed Slick on the other end.

"Yeah, this is, uh, S.D. Trah up in Calgary again," Smith hissed softly, hearing the sounds of his siblings calling out his name in the next room, "I'm kind of in a time constraint right now, so I'd like to make the following quick bets on tonight's Survivor Series: for the first match, fifty thousand Canadian dollars on Rick Martel's team; for match number two, another fifty thousand dollars on the Honky Tonk Man's team; for..."

"You can't wager that much tonight; they'll get too suspicious!" Dean hissed at him, smothering his dialysis machine to try and silence it.

"But it gets us right out of the hole if we win, brother; yeah, uh, Slick, for the tag team match, twenty-five thousand dollars on the Nasty Boys' team; for..."

The closet door swung open, revealing a scowling Ellie glaring in at them. "Uh, no thanks, uh, Aunt Minnie, I already got your brownie recipe," Smith rambled quickly into the receiver, "Got to go now; we're about to head off to the arena. Love you too, bye."

"Aunt Minnie?" Ellie glared suspiciously at him after he hung up, "I don't know any Aunt Minnie, Smith. Is there something you want to say, or should I tell Dad about this right away!?"

"Like he said, we were calling Aunt Minnie," Dean insisted.

"Don't think I don't know what you two have been up to these last few months!" Ellie snapped at them, "In fact, I'm starting to wonder if..."

"Dear, where're the keys to the big boy?" the Anvil called to his wife, rushing into the room and rifling through the drawers of the coffee table, "We're going to follow Mathilda to Davey in that, just in case there's some heavily armed guys behind this."

"Oh no, James Neidhart, you are not taking that thing out onto the streets again!" Ellie warned him, "I am not going to be held responsible for any damage you cause with...!"

"Hey, this time I'm completely sober, and Bret'll be with me; what can go wrong with...ah, here we are!" Neidhart triumphantly held up a set of car keys, "Got to go, honey; time for the Hart Foundation to ride again to the rescue. See you at the Saddledome after we save the day-and if the Warrior's still outside yelling something about the gods, direct me to him once I'm out of the garage so I can run him over, for the good of the sport."

"You're not running anyone over; in fact, you're not going anywhere near that thing, which I still say was a waste of...are you even listening to me? Come back here, Jim; I'm not done shouting at you over this yet!" Ellie barked at him as he rushed out of the room, keys firmly in hand. Smith and Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief. "That was close," the older brother helped the younger to his feet, "Let's go join everyone else, and remember, just act natural; if everything goes well, we'll be completely debt-free by the end of the night, and perhaps even more so, whether Hulk and his gang show up at the arena or not..."

* * *

><p>"Excuse me, Don Vincenelli," Slick stuck his head in the door of the don's recreation room, "Just wanted you to know, I got another call from Smith Hart up in Calgary."<p>

"Oh do tell, Slick," Don Vincenelli seemed interested indeed, even though he barely looked up from the billiard game he was playing with Patrizio.

"He may disguise himself behind pseudonyms, but I know it's him," Slick grinned, "And he just plopped down a good hundred and twenty-five grand for our guys in tonight's match."

"A hundred and twenty-five grand, huh? He really is getting desperate to cover his bets nowadays," Don Vincenelli mused. "I'm wondering, Patrizio," he asked his bodyguard, "Maybe, if he's in deep enough, he'll end up having to owe me a favor or two; what could be better than the sons of the big and moral Stu Hart under my thumb?"

Patrizio grunted softly. "I thought so," the don said quickly. "How's the rest of the betting coming, Slick?" he asked his gambling czar.

"Getting close to the record we set at Summer Slam, Don Vincenelli, so either way, I think you've got another big haul coming in," Slick told him encouragingly.

"Combined with the profits we get from the fools betting on Starcade too, I think we are in good shape, yeah," Don Vincenelli chuckled loudly, "And with Blassie coming up with a good backup plan, we can..."

"Hey Uncle Kenny," his nephew Stefano stuck his head in the recreation room door, "The pre-show just started; the rest of the family's gathering in the study to watch."

"Got it, Stefano; we'll be right in. Back to your post, Slick," the don ordered his gambling czar, "I don't like to be disturbed too much while watching a supercard unfold."

* * *

><p>Hulk groaned as he woke up. "Where are we?" he moaned softly.<p>

"Look like a prison somewhere, Hulk," came Davey's voice to his right. The world champion rubbed his eyes and saw him teammates pacing slowly around a narrow cell-excepting Andre, who'd been chained to the wall. "They must have been waiting right at the bank," he growled to himself, "I can't believe...!"

He was cut off by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Hulk rose up and flexed his muscles, eager to fight his way out, but the butts of several heavy guns pointing through the door as it opened quickly dispelled that thought from his mind. "A very good evening to you, Mr. Hogan, I believe it is?" a graying man in a formal gray three piece suit strode confidently into the room, "Allow me to introduce myself: Frederick A. Norton, president of the Canadian branch of Omnipresent Oil."

"You can't hold us like this, Norton!" Hulk lambasted him, "We know your little scheme to get the oil land from Calgary's rightful residents!"

"Very intuitive, Mr. Hogan; yes, my engineers discovered the giant deposit under the city a few months ago," Norton enlightened him, "Unfortunately, such a big find underneath a major metropolitan area would be difficult to get the rights to in the face of homeowner opposition..."

"So you schemed to drive out the people by force; how low can you get!?" Davey growled, "People could have been killed from all the fires you've had set...!"

"Well look at it this way, Mr. Smith; if we didn't take advantage of the find, surely the Soviets or Chinese or someone else would have found it and exploited it; where's you sense of nationalism?" Norton chided him.

"Wait, there's that guy...!" Savage had noticed Corcoran outside the door.

"Ah yes, allow me to introduce Omnipresent of Canada's chief financial official and my right hand man, Mr. Ernest Whitehead," Norton introduced the man formally, waving him inside the cell, "I entrusted him with the task of working with the Second Canadian National Bank in evicting people from the best sites over the pool-and since we have a cozy little agreement with city hall due to several past favors, everything's gone well so far."

"So the Calgary city government knows about it as well?" Elizabeth pressed.

"Some of them, Miss Hulette," Whitehead remarked, "I may not work for the zoning board, but they were ever so helpful in drawing up buyout offers for several homeowners, to be tied to subsidiary corporations of Omnipresent Oil. Of course, regrettably, some homeowners wouldn't sell, so in those instances more drastic measures had to be taken..."

"Like forging Mr. Hart's name on the foreclosure form!?" Davey pressed him furiously.

"I forged no one's name, Mr. Smith; we mailed that form to Mr. Hart, and it was mailed back signed by him," Whitehead confessed, and by the expression in his eyes, he was in fact telling the truth, "So if his name was forged, it was someone else that forged it, not I."

"And it won't matter now, because that property and all nearby properties shall be drilled first thing Monday morning," Norton declared, "Of course," he glared the wrestler's down, "We do have to make sure word of this doesn't go public-and perhaps profit even more from this situation. Given most of you are world-renowned athletes, I'm sure you'd fetch a nice ransom."

"You wouldn't dare!" Hulk bellowed.

"Oh yes we would, Mr. Hogan; although we didn't forge Mr. Hart's name on his foreclosure notice, we are fairly good at that trade here at Omnipresent, so we can write up a note that will look like it came from the hand of the Saudi oil minister, saying he'd kidnapped all of you and wanted a ransom for you. Before delivering the note to the public, we'd take care to fly all of you to Saudi Arabia so it looks legitimate; after we get paid, the rougher elements in the Saudi government can do whatever they want with you..."

"Uh, boss, I gotta go, again," the main guard outside looked uncomfortable.

"Again?" Norton rolled his eyes in disgust, "All right, go tell Evers to fill in for you till you get back. I can't believe it; my entire security force, having bowel difficulties!" he grumbled, "I told you that you shouldn't have confiscated those pizzas, Ernest," he ripped his right-hand man.

"They looked all right to me, F.A., and I was hungry," Whitehead protested, "And I know security would..."

"Never mind. Let us leave Mr. Hogan and his friends here to wait for their trip to the Middle East. Take care," Norton smirked at the wrestlers before walking out the door. The cell was quickly locked again. "The old talking killer rule, I love it," Savage gloated, "They can never resist blabbing out the whole plan when they think they have the edge."

"Better yet, Randy, I've got him red-handed," smiling, Steamboat pulled a small tape recorder out of his pocket and played back Norton's entire incriminating speech. "Hey, good thinking, Ricky," Hulk commended him.

"I was going to record the Survivor Series for Richie's future memory; good thing I still had it with me," the Dragon admitted.

"Well that's all good and well, Ricky, but we still have to figure out a way out of here," Elizabeth pointed out, glancing at her watch, "And the Survivor Series just started fifteen minutes ago; everyone's bound to be at the arena by now."

"Well we're also not sunk yet. Andre," Hulk asked the Giant, "See if you can break out of those chains A.S.A.P."

"I'll try, Hulkster, I'll try," Andre strained for all it was worth against the chains holding him to the wall. "Hurry, hurry," Hulk mumbled under his breath, hoping their time wasn't more limited than it looked at the moment.


	10. Chapter 10

"Mr. Traylor, it's Stu Hart; I need a word with you," the legendary wrestler knocked on the dressing room door.

"Come in, Mr. Hart," the Boss Man groaned. He and Tito were slumped on the nearest bench, rubbing their shoulders and grimacing. "Rough match, I presume?" Stu inquired knowingly.

"Very rough," Tito nodded, pressing an ice pack to his head, "That's the only problem when you sign up for a match against some of the best all-out brawlers in the sport." His expression became worried when he noticed Stu's worried expression. "Is something wrong with Hulk...?"

"That's why I need Mr. Traylor; we haven't heard from them since they left," Stu shook his head softly. He laid out for the Boss Man's benefit what little else he and his family had ascertained about the situation since that afternoon. "Yeah, that's pretty serious," the former prison guard nodded grimly, "I think we'd..."

"Phone call in the hall for you, Mr. Boss Man; it's Bret Hart," a WWF employee stuck his head in the door.

"I'm coming," the Boss Man rushed for the phone, Stu and Tito hot on his heels. "Yeah, Bret, what have you got?" the Georgian asked the Canadian over the line, "Well, that IS great news...yeah, don't worry, I'll give the Calgary P.D. the word before you get here; then we can have an armada for the raid. I'll be out front; my match is over now-no, but we put up a good fight...right, I'll be there. They know where they are," he told his partner and Stu excitedly, "One of them left a note behind that they stuck in the bank door where no one else could find it; they're probably at the Omnipresent Oil complex on the west end of the city."

"Omnipresent Oil?" Stu's brow furled, "So that's what this was all about?"

"Apparently. I'm going with them to help make the bust; Bret and Neidhart'll swing by the arena to pick me up."

"Well, I hope we can do this quickly," Stu glanced worriedly at his watch, "With the tag team match already in full swing, they'll be cutting it close to get here from all the way over there in time, and it would be a shame to see a disgrace to the sport like Blassie win on a..."

"You!" came a murderous voice from behind them. Martel was storming towards them, atomizer in hand and a look of cold fury on his face. "I'll kill you!" the Model roared at his former tag team partner, "No one uses MY Boston Crab on me, no one!"

"This isn't the time, Rick; we have an emergency here to take care of," Tito wearily tried to shoo him off.

"Indeed, Mr. Martel, this is not the time and place to pick a brawl," Stu stepped between the two former members of Strike Force, "Now please, if you'll..."

"Out of my way, old man; this is personal!" Martel tried to push him aside, "This is for making me look like a fool in front of...!" he started to bellow at Tito while aiming the atomizer square in his face, but Stu abruptly flattened him to the ground with a stiff forearm, then grabbed the Model's legs and twisted them into the Sharpshooter. "Old man, huh?" he growled at Martel, "Let's see how you like this, wise guy!"

"Unhand me, you cretin! I am the Model; you are damaging my smashing physique!" Martel whined in agony, flailing around and finding himself unable to get a clear shot on Stu with the atomizer.

"Oh be quiet!" the legendary wrestler tightened his grip instead. "Good luck, Mr. Traylor," he wished the Boss Man in parting, "Just make sure they're safely in one piece."

* * *

><p>"Just a little bit more, Andre, just a little bit more," Hulk urged him on excitedly. And it was indeed mere seconds later that the Giant snapped his chains clean through. "Wonderful, wonderful," the champion commended his large friend, "Now see if you can break the door down."<p>

But at that moment the door in fact swung open. "All right, what's going on in...?" the guard demanded. In a flash, Steamboat flattened him with several quick martial art chops and kicks, then picked him up and slammed him onto the cell's bench. The Dragon yanked the man's radio out of his pocket and jumped on it hard, smashing it. "Time to make an exit, quick," he spoke for all of them, also grabbing the guard's keys out of his other pocket.

"But let's still get some proof, Ricky," Hulk proposed, locking the senseless guard in the cell once everyone was outside, "Let's see if there's some more incriminating stuff in here before we leave."

"Sorry pal, got to disagree with you on this one; I say just get out of here A.S.A.P.," Savage countered.

"But what if a tape recording doesn't hold up in court, Randy? I'd rather be sure that..."

"Well whatever we decide, let's decide quick, because here comes company!" Davey gulped at the sight of several guards abruptly coming around the corner. "Hey!" one of them shouted, precipitating them all drawing their guns. "Run for it!" Hulk immediately scrapped his plan and led everyone down the first cross hall in front of them just seconds before the bullets started flying. "There's got to be a way out of here real soon," he mused worriedly to himself.

"Well, I certainly hope so, Hulk, because if this is Omnipresent's main processing center we're in, I'd have to point out it's the largest in North America," Elizabeth mentioned to him, shrieking slightly as another shot zinged into the wall dangerously close by.

"In the movies, it's always so easy; the way out's easily marked, and there's always convenient weapons laying around for the good guys to use whenever they need to, yeah," Savage rued.

"Well here's a staircase at any rate," Hulk noticed it and shoved the door open, "Ground floor, here we come."

"And hope it's an easy out at the bottom," Steamboat added.

"Well, Ricky, I think it'll take some time to spread the alarm," Hulk reasoned. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and shoved the door open into what appeared to be one of the main oil storage depots, however, he was proven quite wrong, as about two dozen guards stood directly in front of them, weapons drawn. And glancing over their shoulders, the Mega Powers Team noticed with regret the pursuing guards pouring down the stairs right behind them. They were effectively cornered. "Going somewhere, Mr. Hogan?" came Norton's call from atop a nearby catwalk, "You see, word gets around so quickly in this facility."

"Come on, Mr. Norton, there's nothing to gain from this...!" the champion tried to reason with him.

"Is this all the guards available?" Norton was ignoring him and berating Whitehead next to him.

"Uh, sorry, F.A., but everyone else seems to be asleep or in the bathroom right now," Whitehead admitted sheepishly.

"Blasted pizzas...!" the oil magnate groaned under his breath. "All right, men," he called to his guards, "Forget the ransom plan and kill them now."

"Wait!" Hulk cried in a desperate attempt to halt the assault, but the guards cocked their guns regardless. The champion watched in slow motion as they all took aim, all while Andre raised his huge arms in the air to wave them off and Savage frantically jumped in front of Elizabeth to shield her as best he could. It looked like the end...

But suddenly there came an almost deafening roar from outside, followed seconds later by a tremendous crashing as half the wall at the far end of the storage depot collapsed. "WELL ALL RIIIIIIIIGHT!" Davey roared in delight, waving at the gigantic pink and black monster truck with the huge letters spelling (NEID) HART ATTACK painted on the sides that was barreling full steam into the depot, sending the now panicked guards scattering. "Anvil!" the British Bulldog waved to the truck, which screeched to a halt right in front of them. "Need a lift?" Neidhart all but laughed down at them all.

"Gladly-and I see you called the cops," Hulk saw a full fleet of squad cars zooming towards the hole in the wall the monster truck had come through, "It's Frederick Norton, Anvil; he wanted the oil under the Hart Mansion..."

"We know; Steamboat was clever enough to leave a note stashed just out of sight," Bret leaned over his former tag team partner's shoulder.

"There he goes now!" Andre pointed up to the catwalk, where a panicked Norton was running for it.

"Oh no you don't!" Neidhart jammed his foot down on the accelerator and crashed the monster truck hard into the catwalk, half collapsing it. Norton managed to stay upright and continued crawling for the door, but Mathilda leaped out of the back of the monster truck and sank her teeth into his rear end before he could escape. Howling like the bulldog herself, Norton tried to kick her off, but the Hart Foundation had by now jumped onto the catwalk as well. "She's all ours, Mathilda," Neidhart told the bulldog, who released her foe, allowing the Anvil to heft Norton up on his shoulders. "Hart Attack time, bub!" he laughed in Norton's face.

"Wait, please, I...!" Norton's pleas were in vain, as Bret rushed forward and flattened him down to the floor, just as he and the Anvil had done many times in the ring before. Norton frantically dug through his pockets for a gun. "No you don't, boy!" the Boss Man rushed up and knocked the firearm away with his nightstick, "You're under arrest!"

He drew his handcuffs and slapped them on the oil magnate. "Well, Frederick Norton," it was Inspector Lester coming up the stairs to the catwalk, "I hope you have a reasonable explanation for why several popular wrestlers claim to have been held in a cell in this building under your orders?"

"Yes, this is all a misunderstanding, sir," Norton tried to stammer, "I can explain everything...!"

"Yes, and I'm sure this will go a long way to helping explain," Steamboat was smiling as he swung up onto the catwalk, tape recorder in hand.

* * *

><p>"It was the perfect plan," Norton rued out loud a few minutes later as he was led away into a police cruiser, "The absolutely perfect plan, and...!"<p>

"We know; you would have gotten away with it if it hadn't been for us meddling wrestlers, ooooooh yeah," Savage chuckled, "Happy trails, Fred."

He tapped the cruiser door almost mockingly before it pulled away. "Glad that's over with," he remarked to the rest of his teammates behind him.

"Yes, and we thank you for getting involved with this, Mr. Savage; if you and your colleagues here hadn't, we might never have gotten wind of this plot until they had already started drilling for oil," Lester commended them all, "Now we can have all the leases that were unfairly made reversed."

"Which means-Ricky, you said he confessed to your face that Dad's signature was in fact forged?" Bret pressed the Dragon.

"Sure as day, Bret," Steamboat nodded firmly.

"Well then," a smile crossed the Hitman's face as he pulled out the foreclosure notice and tore it up, "I think we just gave him and Mom the best Thanksgiving present possible."

"Inspector," another officer bustled up to Lester, "It looks like we have a murder charge against Norton as well; we found Alexander Baldwin shot dead in his office."

"Hmm, guess he was growing a conscience and wanted out, and Norton wouldn't let him," the Boss Man surmised, "Well, that's going a long way to making sure he never gets out, then."

"We also have a full list of the Calgary officials on Norton's payroll in his office," the officer continued to Lester.

"Now why would he be dumb enough to write it all down?" Davey frowned.

"Hey, Bulldog, crooks ARE stupid," Savage told him, "It was all a matter of time before..."

"Time...!?" Hulk's expression became one of panic as he grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and checked her watch again. "Holy ringposts!" he gasped, "It's probably almost time for the main event; if we don't get to the Saddledome in a hurry, we'll get DQed!"

"Well then, hop on board the big boy here, Hulkster," Neidhart gestured at his monster truck a few feet away, "And you'll be pleased to note Bret and I took the care to bring your ring clothing with us so you could change on the way. We'll have you all there and ready for the big match in no time flat."

* * *

><p>"WE WANT HOGAN! WE WANT HOGAN! WE WANT HOGAN!" the Saddledome crowd was shouting as one at that very moment. Backstage, a very nervous Jack Tunney was pacing in ever tighter circles. "Eddie," he hailed an aide bustling by, also looking worried, "Heard anything at all...?"<p>

"Not a word, Jack; the Mega Powers Team's still completely AWOL," Eddie shook his head.

"Ah, what a shame; Hogan let his fans down," came Blassie's sarcastic voice as he and the Million Dollar Team came striding confidently up to the curtain into the arena, "You'll notice, Tunney, WE'RE still here on time," he told the WWF president, "And we're not going to let OUR fans down." He leaned close to his fellow managers and whispered softly, "So remind me to give Nikolai and the Sheik an extra bonus for this for actually doing something right for once..."

"What do we do, Jack?" Eddie asked the company president. Tunney shook his head softly. "We can't wait any longer, it's a simple as that, Eddie," he lamented. "Howard," he tapped his Bluetooth, "Introduce Mr. Hart as the referee and then prepare to announce the Million Dollar Team as they come in."

"We're good and ready," Blassie declared. "Line up, team," he told everyone else, "Paul, you lead us out."

"But first, a few things," Tunney stepped in front of Bearer, "I only see five wrestlers here, Freddie..."

"Like I said over the phone, Mr. Tunney, Mr. Perfect had a severe injury this morning; can't go at all," Heenan insisted, "We picked a strong replacement, though; he should be finished suiting up any minute now."

"Well I wish you would have had the company doctors examine Mr. Perfect first, so I could have made the judgment on that," Tunney admonished them, "But given how everything is right now, I suppose this time I can let it slide-not yet, Paul," he cut off Bearer as the funeral director prepared to step through the curtain. "Jake," he approached the Snake, "You know the procedure; open the bag."

"Savage isn't here yet!" Roberts protested, "If he doesn't show, there's no...!"

"Jake, you know my ruling; no cobras at ringside, especially in matches against Savage," Tunney glared in his face, "Open the bag now."

"Fine, fine!" Roberts tore open the bag and dumped Damien to the floor, then turned it inside out to prove there were no more snakes inside, "See, no cobras in the bag! Happy now, Tunney!?"

"That's fine," Tunney nodded, "OK, now, Paul," he told Bearer.

"Come," Bearer told the Undertaker, a weird grin crossing his face as he extended his urn out in front of himself and walked through the curtain as the familiar funeral march started up over the loudspeakers. The rest of the Million Dollar Team fell in after the Undertaker, although Blassie and Flair waited until everyone else had entered the ring (during which time no one in the Saddledome seemed to notice Heenan tapping the ring mat four times with his heel), and the funeral marched had switched to "Thus Spake Flairathustra" before they began striding down to the ring. In the front row, Bonnie slid noticeably down in her seat. "You don't like Flair?" Diana had noticed.

"Well, let's just say, we don't have the best history together," Bonnie confessed, "Right before I met Rick, I was modeling, and got assigned to work with Flair in one of his promotional ads; not only did he degrade me during the shoot, but afterwards, he lured me into his room and tried to..."

"Hello babe, long time no see," Flair had in fact noticed her as he strode by, "Looking just as ugly now as you did way back when."

"Ah, go to hell!" Diana roared at him in defense of her new friend.

"YOU go to hell-and shut up, you overstuffed Canadian turkeys!" Blassie barked at both her and the rest of the fans booing he and Flair behind the Harts.

"You know, it's no wonder your kids don't speak to you anymore, Blassie; I'll bet you didn't even treat _them_ with a shred of respect!" Bruce ripped him.

"Yeah, well there's not much you can do about it is there, Hart? Especially with your little promotion going under, right?" Blassie mocked him back, "Come on, Ric; we're wasting our time on these losers."

"WOOOOOO!" Flair roared in the Harts' faces before climbing into the ring. "I do hate those two men," Helen grumbled, taking a swig of soda, "They represent everything that's bad about the sport today; Stu would never have hired anyone like either of them for Stampede."

"But unless Davey shows up soon, they might just win the match by default," Diana fidgeted in her seat.

"Well, look at it this way; at least it can't get any worse," Ellie tried to assure her sister.

"Guess again, Ellie; Rude's got the mike," Keith pointed at the Ravishing One grabbing the microphone off ring announcer Howard Finkel. "Cut the music," he ordered. "Well, you fat, ugly, overstuffed, cultureless Canadian turkeys," he ripped the crowd, ignoring the boos, "It looks like your great, immortal hero Hulk Hogan never bothered to show up; what a shame. But I don't want to disappoint my loyal fans who came to see their favorite ritual in all of wrestling unfold either way, so ladies, try and control yourselves while I still take my robe off and show you what a truly ravishing body looks like. Hit the music."

"This is insulting, it really is," Wayne groaned, burying his face in his hands to avoid the sight of Rude swiveling his hips wildly once Heenan had removed his robe.

"I kind of like it," Dean defended Rude.

"You're brain's starting to go, that's why," Georgia growled at him, "I don't find him ravishing at all."

"Uh oh, more trouble; here comes Jack Tunney, and he doesn't look too happy; Bruce, no!" Keith restrained Bruce as his older brother rose up, a furious look on his face, "You can't attack Jack Tunney, Bruce; it won't bring Dad's version of Stampede back!"

"I want a piece of him!" Bruce roared, "He destroyed our way of life...!"

"Darling, please just let it go," Helen pleaded with him, "It's over, it's done..."

"In fact, it looks like this match is done already," Ross sighed sadly, observing Tunney, their father, and Finkel having a grim three way conversation in the ring. Moments later, with the Million Dollar Team now smiling in triumph, Finkel took hold of the microphone again. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the capacity Saddledome crowd, "I have just received the following directive from our esteemed World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney: that unfortunately, due to the absence of the Mega Powers Team at this time, it is his official decision to, with the utmost reluctance, award the..."

Suddenly a loud cacophony rose up over the loudspeakers. "Oh shut up!" Smith barked up at the roof, "I want to hear this!"

"No, wait, listen," her face brightening, Alison grabbed his hand and waved him silent. Sure enough, the music sounded like a bizarre mix of "Real American," "Pomp and Circumstance," "Hart Beat," "Rule Brittania," and "Sirius," all rolled into one. "Yes!" Diana looked excited as she rose to her feet, "He made it!"

"Daddy made it?" Harry climbed up onto his seat, eagerly squinting at the tunnel. Sure enough, the sound of a bulldog barking could be heard-before the roar of the now energized crowd drowned it out. Moments later, Mathilda burst through the curtain, the rest of the Mega Powers Team immediately in tow, all shouting, "Hold the match! Hold the match!" in unison. The Saddledome practically exploded. "Now that's more like it!" the Bulldog's wife smiled happily.

"Oh yes; Rick!" Bonnie waved to Steamboat, who saw her and peeled off from the group once they reached the ring. "Hey, didn't I say you wouldn't have anything to worry about?" he gave her a hug.

"I was so worried, where were you!?" she gushed.

"It's a long story," the Dragon cradled his son affectionately for the moment, "I'll explain after the match."

"I'll explain it all now," Neidhart had been bringing up the rear. "So you made it, daddy," Natalya grinned at him.

"Hey, I promised, didn't I?" the Anvil leaped over the barriers into an open seat between his wife and daughter. "And you don't have to worry, Mrs. H," he assured Helen, "As of right now, the Hart Mansion is back in you and your husband's ownership for as long as possible."

"Guaranteed. We did it, Mom," Bret kissed her before climbing into the ring.

"I'm so proud of you, Bret," tears of joy flowed down her face, contrasting deeply with the jealous look on Bruce's face next to her that no one seemed to notice, "Now go kick the pants off those lice in there for us."

"You bet," the Intercontinental champion removed his Hitman shades and handed them off to a young girl a few seats down from his family, then climbed up into the ring, joining his teammates in staring the Million Dollar Team down. "...you're too late, Hogan; Tunney already called the match!" Heenan was shouting, "We already won!"

"Well let's see what Mr. Tunney has to say, Heenan," Hulk turned to the WWF President outside the ring. Tunney waved for a microphone. "Let the match continue," was his formal decision, to a roar from the entire Saddledome. "Any other complaints, Heenan?" the champion all but laughed at him.

"Say wait a minute, where's Perfect?" Savage glanced around, frowning.

"I'm so glad you asked, Macho. Gimme that," Blassie snatched the microphone off Finkel. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced to the crowd, "Due to an unfortunate and unforeseen accident, Mr. Perfect has been unable to make this match. However, you'll be pleased to note I have chosen a replacement for him, and I'd like to introduce him to you right now. Coming down the aisle right now, from right here in Calgary, a local legend beyond compare who never got the credit he deserved till now, please welcome the new member of the Million Dollar Team, and the Million Dollar Corporation, the new King of Harts, Owen Hart!"

"WHAT?" all of the Harts rose up from their seats in shock. In the ring, Stu almost fell over himself. "No...!" Bret was horrified to see a familiar figure also dressed in pink and black running at full tilt up the aisle to a stunned silence from the crowd. Owen rushed right by his stunned family and into the ring next to his new teammates, who all high fived him. "Owen..." Bret was at a loss for words.

"Hello, Bret," Owen sneered, contempt now visible in his voice, "Didn't think I'd find out you were putting me down behind my back, did you?"

"Owen, they're lying to you, whatever they said, you can't...!"

"No, YOU are the liar!" Owen roared at him, "You were only putting me up for your own sense of self-satisfaction...!"

"Owen, come on, you know that's not true...!" Stu tried to reason with his youngest child.

"Shut up, Dad!" Owen bellowed in his face, "I'm sick of you holding me back too; now I'm actually with people who appreciate me!"

"And appreciate him we certainly do," Blassie could barely contain his excitement, "I believe you're obliged to start the match right about now, Mr. Hart?"

Stu nodded grimly and gave the signal for the bell to start the main event. "And guess what, Bret, I'm starting off, that's how highly they think of me," Owen taunted him, waving a finger, "Come on, come and get what you deserve!"

"No," Bret meekly shook his head, still visibly in disbelief, "I won't fight you, Owen."

He turned to tag Savage in-but what plowed into by Owen from behind. "Come on, you coward, fight like a man!" the youngest Hart roared, pounding hard on his brother's back, "You're not running away from me this time!"

"Owen, stop!" Bret tried to parry the blows as best he could, but Owen landed far more. Hulk turned to Savage on the apron, a new grim expression on his face. "Something tells me we just got ourselves in deep trouble," he lamented.


	11. Chapter 11

"...so after this rather shocking turn of events, our big main event match is now underway," Monsoon remarked from the broadcast position, looking a little shocked still himself, "And the apparently self-appointed King of Harts Owen Hart, replacement member on the Million Dollar Team, starting off by whaling around hard on his brother Bret, and the Hitman really not doing anything to fight back."

"I'd say the Hitman's yellow, Gorilla," Ventura griped next to him, "Blood ties should not preclude giving it your all in a match."

"But how would you feel if your favorite brother turned on you, Jesse? It would take a while to digest, if ever. Hitman trying to tag out now, but look at this, Owen grabs his arm before he can reach the Hulkster and yanks him back into the middle of the ring. Owen now coming down hard with the knees onto his brother's chest, and from our position here, their father Stu, who of course was picked to referee this match, looks rather green in the gills to be seeing this happen. Look here, he's all but pleading Owen to stop as his youngest son starts to twist Bret's legs in the Sharpshooter; Owen yelling at him to back off and mind his own business, it appears. Bret breaks loose while the shouting unfolds; he looks hell-bent on getting out of there; reaches for the Dragon's outstretched hand-Owen cuts him off and drags him back again. Hitman absorbing an awful lot of punishment, and the match has already begun. Looking in his corner, his teammates looking concerned; the lovely Elizabeth looks concerned..."

"Well of course SHE'S concerned, Monsoon; the other managers have her outnumbered six to one on the other side of the ring, counting Virgil, and we all know just to cite the most obvious examples that Blassie and Sherri have wanted to take it to her good for a long time now."

"But they all know full well that if they deliberately cause her any harm in this match, they'll be ushered out of the building in a hurry, and-whoa, a rather brutal slam of the Hitman by his brother there! Owen going for the cover; his father seems reluctant to do the count for it, but here it comes, one, two,...Hitman kicks out at the last possible moment."

"Now that was a slow count, Gorilla; Jack Tunney should get in that ring and tell Stu Hart that if he's not consistent with the count, regardless of whether it's his sons going at it in there or not, he'll be replaced immediately..."

Bret Hart looked completely drained and still not fighting back as he takes some more blows from his brother to the back of the head. Owen going up to the top rope; let's see what happens here. Owen leaps...and Bret rolls out of the way just in time. Hitman desperately crawling to his corner, and finally a tag to the Hulkster...looks like he's saying, 'Don't hurt him whatever you do,' to the champion."

"Yeah, like Hogan the colossal cheater is going to follow through on that..."

On the apron, a heartbroken Bret sat slumped in a sitting position, not able to watch Hulk trading jabs with his brother in the ring. "Bret, I don't know what to say," Elizabeth came over to try and comfort him, "It wasn't your fault, however it came to this..."

"I know, Liz, but why? Why all the pent up rage on me, when I've supported him more than anyone else in the family?" Bret rued. He glared over at the Million Dollar Corporation's managers, eagerly cheering Owen on on the opposite side of the ring. "But I will tell you one thing, Liz, _they_ are going to pay in blood before this match is over," he vowed, rage twisting onto his face, "They're all going to pay for twisting him into what I'm seeing in there now," he pointed into the ring, but couldn't bear to directly watch Owen working for the other side.

"Now Bret, you know what I've said about not giving in to the anger," the First Lady of Wrestling tried to bring him down to earth, "You'll be playing right into their hands if you do that."

"And actually you can look now, Hitman; he's out of there," Savage called to him from the far end of the apron. Indeed, it was now Flair in the ring for the Million Dollar Team, jabbing hard at Hulk's chest. He flung the champion into the ropes, only to have Hulk leap over the clothesline he clearly planned to dish out, dropkick Flair to the ground, and hook the leg, nevertheless only getting a two count for all the effort. Nonplussed, Hulk dropped the elbow three successive times into the Nature Boy's chest, then flung him into the corner and splashed him. "LET'S GO HULK! LET'S GO HULK!" the Saddledome crowd roared almost as one. Giving the fans a thumbs-up, Hulk jumped onto Flair's shoulders and belted him five times in succession-but was prevented from going any further when Rude bashed him across the back of the head with a double axhandle to break up the assault. "Blatant interference there by the Ravishing One to save his teammate, and Flair now going on the offensive with several hard elbows to the chest," Monsoon called the action, "Now the self-proclaimed Real World's Champion tags in the Undertaker; Hulk looks a little worried now."

"I'm not surprised; I'll bet he was planning on hiding behind his teammates to keep from having to face the Phenom until he absolutely had to."

"Now you know the Hulkster doesn't do that, Jesse-and Hogan in fact off the ropes and ramming the Undertaker head first in the chest!"

"But again, he didn't bring him down at all-and look, another attempt, and another failure to get the Deadman off his feet."

Hulk tagging in Davey Boy; perhaps he'll have more luck. British Bulldog off the ropes himself and dropkicking the Undertaker, sending him into the corner; now he splashes him, now flinging him across the ring into the next corner and charges...no, Undertaker takes the legs up into his face and stops this."

"And notice, Gorilla, he doesn't look the least bit harmed."

"Huge chop to Davey Boy Smith's back by the Undertaker; we take a look at his lovely bride Diana and son Harry in the front row there, looking quite a bit concerned for him. Undertaker whips him into the ropes...look at this, Davey Boy goes through the legs, grabs the legs, pulls him into a small package: one, two...no, DiBiase in to make the save."

"Good alertness there by the Million Dollar Man; he's willing to stand up for him teammates, while I'm sure Hogan would abandon them at his heart's content."

"British Bulldog still with the upper hand at the moment, atomic drop sends the Undertaker reeling..."

"STILL not down, Gorilla..."

"But he's going down soon; Davey Boy hefting the Deadman up over his head like a rag doll!" Monsoon bellowed over the roar of the crowd, "Here comes that running powerslam...YES! Another cover: one, two...NO! And the Undertaker rising up immediately...!"

"It's very simple, Gorilla: you cannot hurt the Phenom, period."

"Paul Bearer on the apron, raising that urn high again, looks like the Undertaker getting his energy from it. And Undertaker now back to his feet; another big chop to the Bulldog's face sends him sprawling to the mat. Tag to Owen Hart; Davey Boy up quickly...and freezes when he sees who his opponent now is; I don't think he's going to fight Owen either..."

"Coward! Coward!" Heenan started a chant outside that was picked up by no one else apart from his fellow managers. "Davey Boy starting to walk away; he's not-whoa, superkick by Owen takes his brother-in-law down! Owen stomping on the British Bulldog's chest; now whips him into the ropes and fells him with a kick to the chest! Stu Hart looking definitely pained now, watching his son demolish his son-in-law-Owen looking ready to go for the Sharpshooter, but Davey Boy crawling towards the ropes...and now he's under the ropes, and Owen'll have to break the hold-but he's not breaking it! Stu warning his son he'll have to let go; Owen still not letting go...and now a tag to Jake the Snake, who immediately jumps in right on the British Bulldog's back."

"Might as well; if your opponent's down and out, you might as well keep him down and out."

"Except that Jake the Snake too often goes too far in that regard-like he is now: Jake pulling Davey Boy's head backwards against the bottom rope. The Bulldog grimacing in terrible pain-more so when he takes a kick to the back of the head too. Jake hauls the British Bulldog up, vicious knee lift right into the groin, followed by a second-and now a full tilt kick there as well. Jake paying no attention to Stu Hart's warnings that he's risking a disqualification, dropping the Bulldog throat-first on the top rope and stomping on the back. Jake off the ropes, down on Davey Boy's head; he's giving the Bulldog a total shellacking so far."

"See, that's why he's such a top contender here in the WWF; he's cool, calculating, and knows how and when to strike."

"Bulldog finally swinging some blows at the Snake, but Jake blocks them, grabs-wow, Jake with a tremendous suplex on Davey Boy!"

"Davey Boy really needs to tag; he's been in there too long and taken too much punishment."

"Speaking of punishment, Davey Boy now getting that patented short clothesline by Roberts, and that familiar cold look coming on Jake's face as he hauls him up into position and gives that familiar finger twirl..."

"Yep, here comes the DDT; the Snake's about to fatally bite the Bulldog."

"Pay attention, Savage!" Roberts bellowed at the Macho Man once he had Davey's head hooked into position under his arm, "Watch and learn, because you're next! Nighty-night, Bulldog!"

"Oh don't look, don't look!" in the audience, Diana quickly covered Harry's eyes seconds before Roberts delivered a brutal DDT to the boy's father. The Snake casually rolled his fallen foe over and "slithered" in position for the cover, getting a reluctant three count from Stu. "Scratch one member of the Mega Powers Team-but whoa, Savage into the ring like a rocket and starts immediately whaling away on Jake before Davey Boy's even out of the ring!" Monsoon proclaimed.

"He'd better be careful; he's really risking the disqualification himself if he doesn't lay off."

"Well can you blame him, Jesse; here he is, face to face with the man who held that cobra that bit his arm, and then hit his wife on national TV. I'd want justice too, and Savage going to town on Jake, belting him in the middle of the ring with everything he's got! Now he's got him up, there's the finger twirl, and YES, over the top rope, and Jake snaps back hard into the ring! Savage now going up to the top rope; here comes the flying elbow-yes! Cover: one, two...rake of the eyes by Jake breaks the hold. Savage kicking Roberts in the chest; he's clearly going to show the Snake no mercy-whoa, now picks him up and hurls him clear out of the ring! Macho Man going up again; he's a man on fire! Jake trying to get up and crawl away, but Savage leaping-yes, smashing him right into the timekeeper's table! This crowd's going nuts!"

"Jake better get up on the apron and tag quick; I think Savage genuinely means to kill him here tonight."

"Roberts doesn't know where he is! He's stumbling around the ring, trying to find someone on his team to tag, Savage chasing after him, round and round they go, Macho's almost caught up to...and look at that, Jake pulls Elizabeth in front of himself as a shield; what a coward!"

"He's also very smart, because he knows full well what Macho's big weakness is, and as you can see, Savage isn't going to attack when his woman's in trouble."

"Savage frozen in place, trying to figure out how to handle this situation...but look out, Sherri coming up from behind with a steel chair-wham, bashes her former protégé across the back of the head!" Monsoon was disgusted, "Now the former Sensational Queen kicking at him, yelling derogatory words at Elizabeth too-oh come on, she slaps the First Lady of Wrestling across the face! This is completely out of line!"

"Well who can blame Sherri for being upset, Gorilla? Liz stole her man."

"After Sherri threw him away like yesterday's garbage over one measly loss? She didn't deserve him, Jesse. Sherri now rolling Jake back into the ring as Stu Hart lays out the count for both men, which is at five now. Savage dazed, but managing to get to his feet; he jumps under the ropes with two seconds to spare. Meanwhile, Jake tagging DiBiase on the other side of the ring. Million Dollar Man running over, snaps the Macho Man over his shoulder before he can fully get to his feet."

"Macho's still too hung over from that chair shot; he ought to tag out quick."

"Savage in fact reaching for his corner as best he can; DiBiase whips him into the ropes, swings the clothesline-and misses! And Savage gets the tag to Andre, and in comes the Giant! DiBiase reversing course towards his corner, but Andre cuts him off! Hefts him up in the air, and slams him down hard! Andre grinning like the cat that ate the canary as he drops the shoulder on the Million Dollar Man; DiBiase groaning in pain as he gets another, and then another. Andre with the cover: one, two-no, foot was on the ropes. Andre nonplussed, flings DiBiase into the ropes, big boot to the chest sends him down again-and look at this, Andre off the ropes again, down with the big splash! Another cover: one, two-no; that arm was coming down for the three."

"As I've said before, Gorilla, DiBiase is an extremely talented wrestler, and it's going to take an awful lot more than...hang on, what's going on over there?" the Body frowned at the far side of the ring, "It looks like Heenan's looking for something under the ring..."

"I see that too; the Brain's talking like...hold on, what is this!?" Monsoon's eyes went wide at a familiar blonde mop of hair emerging from underneath the ring, "What is this; here comes Mr. Perfect from under the ring, and he doesn't look injured at all from what I can see!"

"Well maybe you can't see well enough," Ventura retorted, "And either way, give Perfect credit; this is really brave of him to want to wrestle through whatever his exact injury is."

Down below, Perfect, climbed up onto the apron. "Hey there, Owen," he greeted a surprised King of Harts, "It wasn't as bad as I thought, so I figured I'd join in anyway-over here, Ted," he waved to DiBiase in the ring.

"So why were you under...?" Owen frowned, but he didn't get a chance to answer as DiBiase tagged Perfect at that moment. The former Intercontinental champion immediately leaped over the top rope and drove his legs square into Andre's chest, sending the Giant reeling backwards. "Look at this: Mr. Perfect bounding off the ropes, kicking Andre hard in the chest; that settles it, he was never injured at all!" Monsoon bellowed.

"Oh I guess you're absolutely sure of that, huh?" Ventura groused at him.

"Look at him go, Jesse; Perfect moving with reckless abandon; now up to the top rope and leaping; staggers the Giant with a kick to the head! This man is in perfect physical condition...!"

"Well of course he is, he's Mr. Perfect; he's _supposed_ to be perfect..."

"He deliberately lied to WWF officials about his health so his team would have an unfair and illegal advantage in this match, Jesse! They then brainwashed Owen Hart with whatever they said to him to get an extra man for their team!"

"Well, you can rant and rave all you want, Gorilla, but it's not going to help the Mega Powers Team; they'll have to work through a seven to five advantage on their own."

"Jack Tunney waving Bobby Heenan over outside the ring; he doesn't look too happy that he was hoodwinked like this. Meanwhile, Andre tagging the Dragon; Steamboat into the ring, blocking Perfect's blows, then giving him back some karate chops of his own."

"Yeah, speaking of illegal moves..."

"Sweep of the legs takes Perfect down; Steamboat stomping in the groin area. Now a slingshot into the turnbuckle, and a beauty; Perfect staggers backwards, clutching his face, looking for a tag, sees Rick Rude, but turns away and tags Flair instead. Nature Boy going up to the top rope right off the bat, he leaps-straight into Steamboat's arms! The crowd encouraging him on as Steamboat charges across the ring, and a big slam. Now the Dragon up and down into Flair's chest several times. Flair up and swings a punch, but gets taken down again by an armdrag. Steamboat into the ropes...and from the outside, Blassie trips him; give me a break! Flair off the other ropes, and drives the knees into the Dragon's head. All the managers circling around their side, encouraging the Million Dollar Team's captain on, with Jimmy Hart yelling for him to break the Dragon's legs through that megaphone that someone really ought to ram down his throat."

"You never appreciate Jimmy Hart either, Gorilla; most managers could never dream of taking as many men to the top of the sport as he has."

"If by handling you mean flagrantly bending the rules whenever necessary, certainly. Flair with a chokehold on Steamboat; Stu Hart over to demand he break it up at once. Flair grabbing Steamboat by the legs; are we about to see the Figure Four in action?"

"Blassie's yelling for it, and I'd go for it now; the faster you can get the other team eliminated, the better."

"Flair in fact giving the signal for the Figure Four Leglock, twisting Steamboat's legs, trying to get it in...but no, Steamboat kicks out and sends Flair into the ropes, and he's tied up in the ropes now!" Monsoon roared along with the crowd, "Blassie rushing over to free his man while Steamboat stumbles to the corner, and he tags the Hitman. Bret Hart holding up, waiting until Blassie has Flair out, then over with a kick to the Nature Boy's chest. Hitman picks Flair up, big suplex coming up-yes! Bret Hart off the ropes, goes airborne, and down on Flair's chest. A cover: one, two, no..."

"Now that was a quick count, Gorilla; Stu Hart deliberately counted fast there," Ventura complained.

"That count was the same as all the others, Jesse," Monsoon countered.

"Sure, I see, more of your biased commentating; anything to give the Hitman a break; you never stop...!"

"Hart flings Flair into the turnbuckle, now a big splash on him," Monsoon ignored his broadcast partner, "Hitman up on the so-called Real World's Champion's shoulders, and here come the punches: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Flair walking across the ring...and falls flat on his face," he declared as half the Saddledome burst into laughter, "Flair reaching for Owen, trying to force the Hitman to face his brother again; Bret sees this and starts dragging him away by the legs, and Flair forced to tag Rick Rude instead."

"Not that that's much of an improvement, mind you; Rick Rude's easily a match for Bret Hart any day."

"Rude down onto Hart's back, now whipping him into the ropes, and a roundhouse right sends the Hitman reeling. Rude now off the ropes himself, and a high kick sends Hart out of the ring, right into the hornet's nest."

"Of course, obviously because he landed right by the Million Dollar Team's managers, he's dead meat."

"Well look what's happening over there; Sherri's choking the life out of him on the floor while Blassie stomps on his chest; come on Stu, turn around and look what they're doing!"

"He can't; he's too busy yelling at Rude for whatever reason."

"Rude's distracting him so he can't see it-and now look at this, Virgil dragging the Hitman along by the hair and smashes him into the ring post! Virgil repeating the maneuver on the steel steps into the ring, and now finally rolls Bret Hart back in; meanwhile, Rude walking over to the other side of the ring, looks like, yes, he's doing his thing for Elizabeth..."

"And look, she looks impressed, Gorilla."

"She does not! Rude doesn't see the Hitman in the ring; Bret sees what he's doing...and uh oh, he tagged Savage in; Rude's going to have hell to pay now!"

"Don't be too certain; Macho might still be hung over from that chair shot he took a few minutes ago."

But it was a very much good shape-and very angry-Savage who drove a double axhandle into the back of Rude's neck and pulled him down into a small package. When he only got a two count, he flung the Ravishing One into the corner, splashed him hard, and then snapped him over his shoulder to the mat before climbing up to the top rope again. "Rick Rude lying dazed on the floor; by trying to impress Elizabeth and clearly failing, he may have just dug his own grave in this match," Monsoon declared, "Savage off the top rope-connects hard with the elbow! Hooks the leg: one, two, three; Rude's out of there! Heenan looking upset outside the ring as Flair comes in to...no, Savage shoves Flair away and drags Jake over the top rope into the ring; he's not done punishing the Snake yet!"

"Well he's got to let him go; Flair came in first, so he's now the legal man."

"Savage doesn't care as he continues to whale away at Jake in the middle of the ring; now Flair pulling the Macho Man off his teammate-oooooooh, drops him throat first onto the top rope...!"

"WOOOOOOOO!" Flair bellowed in triumph to the crowd, then whipped Savage into the ropes and flattened him with a forearm smash. The Nature Boy casually climbed up to the top rope himself and leaped, but Savage rolled out of the way in time and crawled over to tag in his partner in the Mega Powers. Hulk rushed in and kicked Flair in the face, then grabbed hold of the Nature Boy's legs and started twisting them, sending Flair toppling to the mat. "Hogan looks like he's going for the Boston Crab, and he is; let's see if Flair's going to give in for-no he won't; Perfect in to make the save," Monsoon sighed, "Oh but look at this: Hulk grabs Perfect by the singlet and rams him straight into Flair! Hulkster flings both men into the far ropes, grabs the nearest rope and fells them both with a boot to the face! Hogan launching himself off the ropes onto Flair, and here's the cover...Owen Hart with a flying save. Hulk up to deliver Owen a...no, Bret comes running between the both of them, pleading Hulk not to do anything to his brother, and it looks like Hulk's going to listen and not-but look at that, Owen pounds them both when they turn away; what ingratitude!"

"Well, Gorilla, you win whatever it takes, I always say."

"Please don't remind me, Jesse. Flair tags in the Undertaker, who pins Hulk against the ropes, and we've got a blatant chokehold here by the Deadman..."

"Of course, anything _he_ does is blatant, and when Hogan does it..."

"Will you stop!? Stu Hart warning the big guy to stop it, and Undertaker finally breaks the hold and backs away...and then from the outside Paul Bearer starts choking out the champ himself; give me a break!"

"Hey, Bearer's just helping out his man, Monsoon."

"Quick tag by the Hulkster to Steamboat, and the Dragon with a dropkick from behind on the Undertaker, sending him flailing into the ropes..."

"But again he stays on his feet, Gorilla..."

"Steamboat trying the armdrag to bring him down, but the Undertaker too strong, and the big guy instead whips him hard into the turnbuckle. Now he's tagging Perfect in..."

"I don't know about that decision, Gorilla; the Phenom had the advantage, so why would he tag out at this point?"

"You may be right that this could be a turning point. Perfect with a few quick blows on the Dragon, now flings him into the opposing turnbuckle-and misses with the splash attempt! Steamboat successfully armdrags Perfect down and twists the arm..."

"Well he can forget it; you don't get Mr. Perfect to submit that easily."

"Perfect with a handful of the Dragon's hair to make him stop twisting his arm; Stu Hart warning him to let go. Steamboat now trying to lock on a sleeper, Perfect's fighting it for all it's worth-and he does get to the ropes. Steamboat releases the hold...and gets a hard kick to the chest by Perfect for his trouble."

"You know what that is, that's payback for all of Steamboat's illegal chops to..."

"Perfect going up to the top rope; he's taking an awful lot of time getting up there...too much time; Steamboat catches him up there!" Monsoon roared as Steamboat popped back up and grabbed Perfect just as he reached the top rope, "Steamboat slams him down hard and starts climbing up himself...!"

"Perfect better move; the Dragon's awfully dangerous up there."

"Mr. Perfect trying to squirm away, but he's not fast enough; the Dragon taking flight, and he fells Perfect back to the mat with a hard right hook! The cover, one-in comes Jake for the save, but the Hitman knocks him down before he can reach Steamboat, and there's another three count! Perfect's gone, and we're back to even strength in this match!"

"Big mistake by the Undertaker, tagging Perfect in when he had Steamboat on the ropes," Ventura grumbled in frustration.

"Well, looks like he wants to atone; Undertaker right back in now. Steamboat trying a karate kick on him, but the Undertaker catches the leg, and whoa, nearby rips it right off hurling him into the ringpost! Steamboat shaking it off, climbing up quickly to the top rope again, here's the leap-but he was caught in midair by the big guy...and whooooa, what a chokeslam by the Undertaker!" Monsoon grimaced.

"Now if he really wants to atone, he should go for the Tombstone right now after that big move."

"And it looks like that's just what the Undertaker's doing, he's turning Steamboat upside-down, Bearer gives the signal, and there it is; Tombstone City!"

There was a loud shriek of anguish from Bonnie in the front row the moment the Tombstone was delivered, countered by a maniacal laugh of triumph by Bearer just outside the ring. "It's OK," Alison reached over to touch the Dragon's bride's arm, "Everyone who's taken that so far has walked again."

"Maybe, but I...I don't know...it's hard seeing the one you love keep taking punishment," Bonnie confessed as the bell rang for the three count, eliminating her husband. "I don't know how long my heart can take Rick taking all this!"

"Well, you bear up as best you can," was Diana's best advice, pulling her son close, "I've long since learned that things do happen, and you can't control it-see, he's all right," she pointed at Steamboat crawling out of the ring, clutching his head and grimacing but able to walk normally. He flashed his wife a thumbs-up, which she returned. "Well," she confessed to the Hart daughters, "I guess after what Savage did to him with the ring bell, I've been on edge after every little bump he takes. Still, I don't think I want to go through this forever..."

"Well, hopefully Bret'll come through in one piece," Georgia pointed to the ring, where her brother had been the next to come in against the Undertaker. Bret paused for a moment, sizing the situation up, then rushed off the ropes and charged straight at the Deadman, only to duck low under the Undertaker's clothesline, grab his legs, and pull him down. "Brilliant maneuver there by the Hitman!" Monsoon applauded the move, "And now it looks like he's trying to twist him into the Sharpshooter, trying to get him over-DiBiase comes in to break it up. Bret Hart looking frustrated, yelling at the Million Dollar Man to stay out of the ring unless he's tagged in-and gets bashed from behind by the Undertaker."

"He made one of the cardinal mistakes of the sport, Gorilla; he took his eyes off the man in the ring."

"Undertaker throws the Hitman hard into the turnbuckle, starts backing hard into him...and look at this, Jake wrapping the turnbuckle rope around Bret's head and choking him out with it, while DiBiase and Flair hold his arms still! Come on Stu, he's being quadruple-teamed!"

"Hey, he's only human, Monsoon; he can't see every little detail."

"He sees it now, though, and orders the Million Dollar Team to release his son, and they do-but Jake yanks his head backwards so the Undertaker can kick him in the chest! Stu warning Jake he's risking a disqualification, and finally the Snake lets him go. Suplex and a beauty by the Undertaker, now he goes off the ropes and drops the big elbow...and misses! Hitman crawling towards his corner as quick as he can, and makes the tag to Andre. In comes the Giant, once again face to face with the Deadman; their Summer Slam match proved inconclusive, so let's see if this encounter gives us the definitely better man."

"Which as I've said before is no question at all; Andre's a washed-up has-been and the Phenom is completely unstoppable."

"Well, Jesse, your..."

"Coming through, coming through," Heenan unexpectedly climbed up to the broadcast position and plopped a spare chair between the two announcers. "What are you doing here, Brain!?" Monsoon berated him, "You're not scheduled to call any matches tonight!"

"Well, given I got out of work early due to extreme bad luck, figured I'd give this broadcast a little more color, Monsoon," Heenan plugged in a spare set of headphones and slipped them on, "Well, here we have the Undertaker and Andre going at it tooth and nail in the middle of the ring, dancing around like it's ballet class rather than a wrestling match..."

"Why me, God, why me!?" Monsoon whimpered to the ceiling, "Why do I have to work with these two lunatics all the time!?"

"You were meant to suffer; it's your lot in life," Heenan channeled C-3PO for an answer.

"Will you stop!? Andre flings the Undertaker into the corner, now slamming his own rear end into the Deadman like...look at this, from the outside, Sherri grabbing the Giant's leg and pulling him down!"

"Oh come on, you're pulling my leg with that nonsense," Heenan cracked.

"WILL YOU STOP!?"

Down below, Andre roared in rage as Sherri yanked his leg clean under the ropes. "Let go!" he roared, kicking at her with his other leg and managing a brief second roar before the Undertaker started choking him out, conveniently blocking Stu's view of the Sensational Queen's actions.

"We'll let go when we're done with you, big boy," Blassie strode forward, a cold look on his face, "Hold it still, Martel."

He started raining down hard cane shots on the leg. Andre howled and kicked at him, but it was only after twelve blows that Blassie nodded for Sherri to release it, at exactly the same time the Undertaker stopped choking the Giant. The Deadman quickly hooked his foe up in the ropes and started pounding away, again blocking Stu's view and allowing Virgil to deliver a clean chair shot to the back of Andre's head without the referee noticing him. Dazed, Andre nonetheless landed a hard blow on the Undertaker once Stu released him that send the Deadman reeling. The Undertaker quickly tagged DiBiase. "Virgil, I'd better make sure with the Giant," the Million Dollar Man whispered to his bodyguard before he entered the ring, "The widowmaker if you please."

"Wait, foreign object, he gave him a foreign object, Mr. Hart!" Elizabeth had seen Virgil slip something into his boss's hand across the ring, but her voice was drowned out by the crowd. Grimacing on one good leg, Andre stumbled towards DiBiase, his arm rearing back for a tremendous punch. DiBiase ducked the blow and let Andre pin him against the ropes, then reared back and smashed the Giant hard in the face with Virgil's foreign object. Andre fell over with a loud thud to the mat. Laughing maniacally, DiBiase quickly tossed the object out of the ring before Stu could turn around, dove on top of Andre for the cover, then, once Stu was in position for the count, hooked his legs on the ropes for extra leverage, which proved enough to hold Andre down for the three count. Elizabeth groaned and buried her face on the apron. "I hate it when people do that to win, I hate it!" she lamented to no one in particular.

"Well he's not doing it to me, Elizabeth," Hulk bravely leaped right into the ring and started smashing DiBiase hard. DiBiase threw a hard right hook back that was blocked, and then found himself being whipped into the corner and pummeled. "Lots of stamina still left in the Hulkster even though his team's now in a five to three hole," Monsoon commended the champion.

"Well he'd better find something superhuman, because with how fast his teammates are falling, Hogan isn't going to last much longer," Ventura predicted.

"You've counted the champion out many times before over the years, Jesse, and most of the time, he's always been able to find that little something extra. And it looks like the Hulkster may have that now, as he whips the Million Dollar Man into the other corner, and now up on his shoulders and punching away-and wow, a big suplex on DiBiase! The cover: one, two...no, just missed the three count there. Hulkster nonplussed, flings DiBiase into the ropes, sends him down with a hard right. Into the far ropes and...and hit in the back of the back of the head by that little runt Jimmy Hart's megaphone!"

"Well, that'll clear the cobwebs up there for him, huh?" Heenan cracked again.

"Brain, you keep this up, and that headphone cable's going around your neck! DiBiase with a tag to Jake, and the Snake immediately in on top of the Hulkster with a blatant chokehold. Now he goes off the ropes for the splash-but nobody's home! Hulkster trying to crawl back to his corner; Roberts grabbing the legs and trying to pull him back. The champion reaching, reaching...and tags the Macho Man! Jake sees it and tries to bail back to his corner, but Savage jumping on top of him before he can get there! Up goes the Snake over Savage's head, and the Macho Man hurls him upside-down into the ringpost!"

"Disqualify him, disqualify him!" Heenan bellowed, "This is torture, not wrestling; Savage has lost his mind!"

"It's not torture, Brain; it's justice for everything Elizabeth was put through by that psychopath. Savage hooking Jake's head under his armpit; is he going to give the Snake a DDT? No, he's not; charging across the ring, he rams him headfirst into the opposite ringpost! Roberts dazed, crumples down to the mat, while Macho heads up to the top rope again; are we going to see another flying elbow elimination is this match? Sherri running over, she grabs hold of the leg before Savage can jump...but look at this, Elizabeth knocks her down!" he roared in approval, as did the entire Saddledome, "Elizabeth holding Sherri down while Savage in fact leaps, and yes, another flying elbow! The cover: one, two, three; the Snake's history!"

"Now that was utterly cheap by Elizabeth; she interfered in this match, contrary to what she always says is her policy!" Ventura whined.

"After Sherri clearly interfered first? Sherri irate, trying to pull Elizabeth's hair in a rage, but here comes Savage out of the ring, he picks his former manager up and drops her hard over the barricades!

"He calls THAT being a macho man!? Assaulting a woman!?" Heenan complained.

"He was only defending his wife, Brain; I'd call Macho Man's actions completely justified. Now Savage going back up again to the top rope; Jake still laying in the middle of the ring..."

"Like I said, he's going to torture Jake; somebody stop him!" Heenan begged.

"And like I said, this is justice; give it to him, Macho!" Monsoon urged Savage on, and Savage in fact did leap again and give the prone Roberts another flying elbow drop. The Macho Man shoved Owen aside when he tried to enter the ring, twirled his index finger in the air, and started climbing up to the top rope again. "Uh oh," Bret frowned at the murderous expression on his partner's face. "Uh, Randy, I think you beat him fair and square already," he tried to talk Savage out of it.

"No way, Hitman; he hasn't been beat up properly yet!" Savage retorted, leaping once more and giving Roberts a third elbow drop. "OK, that's good Randy, he's down and out, you...oh no," Bret grimaced as Savage climbed out of the ring and yanked the bell away from the timekeeper. "Randy, Randy, don't!" Elizabeth begged, leaping up onto the apron and waved her arms at him, "It's over, Randy, you've won; don't do it!"

"He has to pay!" the Macho Man roared, reaching the top rope and raising the bell high over the prostrate Roberts, "For everything he did to you and more...!"

"He did pay, Randy; he paid when you pinned him and proved yourself the better man; please, don't do it, or you'll be turning into what you were with Sherri again!" she pointed out. This appeared to do the trick; Savage glanced down at the groaning Roberts, then at the bell in his hands, then back to Roberts, then down to his wife. With a heavy expression of guilt, he tossed the bell away and started to climb down...

...only to have Owen, having stayed aside rather than face Savage's wrath during the repeated elbow drops, swat his legs out from under him, causing Savage to fall very painfully on the top of the ringpost. Owen picked him up and slammed him hard, then hooked on a cover that Savage only was able to kick out of at the last possible moment. "I'm not done yet!" Owen hissed, stomping on Savage's groin. He whipped him into the far ropes, then raced himself into the near ones, and felled the Macho Man with a flying dropkick. Savage crawled to his corner, looked between his two remaining partners, then tagged Hulk in. The champion rushed towards Owen, only to be taken down by an armdrag. "You think you're so great, Hogan?" Owen twisted the arm roughly, "Let's see how much you can really take!"

"You tell him pal, WOOOOOOO!" Flair encouraged his teammate on. Hulk grimaced as his arms were locked behind his back and stretched hard. "Pour it on, boy, pour it on!" he could hear Blassie encouraging the youngest Hart. With no other recourse, he stomped down hard on Owen's foot to break the hold, then rushed into the ropes to give him a flying tackle-but was instead flipped by Owen and pinned down in a crucifix. Straining with all his might, he just managed to get his shoulder up at the last possible moment. A scissor kick to Owen's head broke that hold and send the self-proclaimed King of Harts toppling backwards. "Hands up, Bret!" Hulk called to the Hitman, crawling towards his corner.

"I can't...!" Bret looked pale at the thought.

"You're going to have to at some point, or we'll never win this one!" Hulk stretched his hand out, easily within Bret's reach. With a heavy expression, Bret tagged him and climbed into the ring. "I don't want to have to do this, Owen," he looked miserable as he approached his brother, "But I have..."

In a flash Owen delivered a series of hard blows to his older brother's chest, then dragged him over to the ropes and pressed his throat down hard into it. "Hitman taking an awful lot of punishment right away, as Owen making it clear he wants prove himself superior to Bret tonight," Monsoon remarked up in the broadcast position.

"Well, having trained with Owen this afternoon, I can say with every degree of certainty that he is, Monsoon," Heenan said confidently.

"Sure, and you call yourself an unbiased reporter?" Monsoon glared at him.

"Hey, I'm just doing my job as a broadcast journalist..."

"I smell collusion here, Brain, and I'll bet you and...!"

"Meanwhile, Owen snaps Bret off the top rope to the mat," Ventura picked up the commentary, "And let me tell the both of you, I have never, ever seen the Hitman take the beating he's taken at his brother's hands tonight."

"Owen in fact going up to the top rope," Monsoon squinted hard into the ring, "Standing perched over Bret...and whoa, what a moonsault!" he declared at the sight of Owen backflipping down hard onto Bret's chest, "Say what you will, this kid has talent!"

"Like I've been saying all along," Heenan cut in, "This guy's going places-after he proves himself the best Hart just now."

"And if I were him, Bobby, I'd go for the Sharpshooter right now, since word is Stu taught him that as well," Ventura told him.

"That's what he's doing now, look," Heenan pointed to Owen beginning to twist Bret's legs into the Sharpshooter. "Here it comes, the patented Hart family finishing move; we could be seeing something epochal here right now," Monsoon said loudly to the viewing public, "Hitman fighting for all it's worth, but it's too late; Owen has him turned over, and now he's pouring on the Sharpshooter full blast!"

"That's it, it's over," Ventura predicted with a grin, "Any minute now, Stu'll have no chance but to ring the bell and declare Owen the better wrestler..."


	12. Chapter 12

"Owen!" Bret cried, grimacing from the tightness of the Sharpshooter, "Owen, think what you're doing here!"

"Give up, Bret, I've won!" Owen roared, tightening his grip.

"Owen, these people don't care for you!" the Hitman tried to reason with him, "You may think we don't appreciate you, but they appreciate you even less, you have to believe me!"

"Why should I believe you!?"

"Because I'm family; and you may not trust me right now, but you know me. Have I ever...?"

"I said give up!" Owen twisted his brother's legs as tightly as he could, "I need to show them how great I am by beating you!"

"Bret, you want to give up?" Stu reluctantly asked his son.

"I'm not quitting!" Bret declared, "Owen, you think this is about respect? Look out at them, Owen, right there in the front row; do they look like they respect what you're doing right now!?"

Owen glanced out to the Harts in the audience. What he got back was a solid wall of his family's faces looking all at once shocked, repulsed, horrified, and even angry by what they were seeing him do. Slowly, but surely, a shocked and horrified expression crept across his face, and then, without warning, he released the Sharpshooter. "What are you doing!?" an irate Blassie leaped up onto the apron, "He didn't submit yet; finish the job!"

"Oh my God...!" Owen didn't hear him, lost in his own horrified thoughts, "Oh my God, what have I done...!?"

"I said finish him, damn you!" Blassie berated him. When Owen still didn't answer, he roared, "You miserable good for nothing...!" and abruptly belted Owen hard across the head with his cane, sending him down to the mat. "Hey!" an enraged Stu stormed over to the Classy One, "That did it, Blassie; you're out of here!"

"WHAT!?" Blassie roared in his face, outraged, "Who do you think you are telling ME what to do, Hart!? NOBODY tells me what to do, nobody! I'm a bigger legend than you can ever hope to be, and...!"

"Owen," Bret helped his brother up while their father continued yelling at Blassie, "Owen, are you all right?"

Before Owen cold answer, DiBiase stormed over and grabbed Owen by the singlet. "What is your problem!" the Million Dollar Man roared at him, "You don't chicken out when you're about to finish someone, Hart! Especially when I own you now!"

"What do you mean own...!?" Owen was cut off as DiBiase shoved him roughly to the mat. "Why you...!" Bret lunged for him, but DiBiase shoved him aside as well. "Learn your place, slave!" he berated Owen coldly, "You don't think, you don't act, you don't do _anything_ unless _I_ tell you to, and I say put that Sharpshooter back on and get him out of this match! Do you understand me, _slave!_?"

"I," a look of pure rage rose on Owen's face, "AM NO MAN'S SLAVE!"

In a flash he belted DiBiase hard in the chest, then drop-kicked him into the ropes. DiBiase tried to crawl out of the ring, but Owen caught up to him and suplexed him face-first into the turnbuckle. "WOW, what a turn of events this is!" Monsoon declared from the broadcast position.

"What an ingrate!" Heenan vented, "We did an awful lot for Owen Hart, and this is how he repays us!?"

"Given what your idea of 'helping' is, Brain, I'll bet Owen's quite glad to be ungrateful-and look at this, another moonsault off the top rope takes DiBiase down again! DiBiase looking panicked, barreling towards his corner and tags Flair. Flair looking at an angry Owen coming at him-and tags DiBiase back in! DiBiase terrified, tags Flair again; Flair tags DiBiase; DiBiase tags Flair; Flair tags DiBiase; DiBiase tags Flair; Flair tags DiBiase; DiBiase tags Flair; neither man wants to have to face Owen Hart right now!"

"Why don't they just tag the Undertaker in; he could get Owen under control in no time?" Ventura opined.

"Moot point now, Jesse; Owen yanking Flair into the ring...!"

"Can he do that? Is Flair the legal man right now...?"

"He most certainly is, and Owen Hart going to work on the Nature Boy's back! Now whips him into the far ropes-WHOA, spinning kick fells the self-proclaimed Real World's Champion hard! Now Freddie Blassie pushing past Stu Hart into the ring, waving that cane at Owen...Owen ducks under the blow, picks Blassie up, turns him upside-down, and gives the Classy One a piledriver!" he roared as the crowd erupted, "Now he tags Bret on the apron..."

"He can't do that!" Ventura protested, "He can't tag a member of the other team!"

"Well right now, Jess, I think it's a safe bet that Owen Hart has just joined the Mega Powers Team-his father in fact consulting the move with Jack Tunney outside the ring, and our esteemed president, yes, he gives it a thumbs-up as a legal move."

"This is all the proof I need that Tunney's crooked!" Heenan complained, "He's deliberately in Stu Hart and Hogan's back pocket...!"

"Hitman picking Flair up, and a hard bulldog of the so-called Real World's Champion on top of Blassie!" Monsoon paid no attention, "Bret now going up to the top rope; a high risk maneuver coming up; Sherri running over to try and pull him down, but the Hitman goes airborne, and YES, down hard on the Nature Boy and his manager! A cover: one, two, three! The Million Dollar Team just lost its captain!"

"That shouldn't count!" Ventura groused, "Since he pinned both Flair and Blassie, it shouldn't count!"

"Again, Stu Hart consulting with Jack Tunney to make sure it counts, and apparently it does," Monsoon nodded at the sight of the WWF president giving the referee a thumbs-up, "Blassie irate, swinging his cane at both Harts, but here comes a swarm of WWF officials into the ring; they're forcibly dragging him out, and since Stu Hart ejected him for outside interference a few minutes ago, this couldn't have come soon enough."

"Get your hands off me, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie roared at the company officials dragging him away from ringside, "I'm the greatest wrestling legend of all time; I can sue every last one of you into your graves for this! You planned this, didn't you, you filthy broad!?" he screamed hatefully at Elizabeth as he was pulled by her, "You set this whole trick up; I'll get you for this if it's the last thing I ever do, because NOBODY makes a fool out of me, especially you!"

"Goodbye, Freddie," despite her in fact complete innocence in the entire matter, Elizabeth managed a small smirk at the Classy One as he was hauled out of the Saddledome. "Heads up, Bret, here comes the Undertaker," she called to the Hitman, noticing the Deadman climbing into the ring. The Hitman turned and ducked a hard swing by the Undertaker, then took him down with a leg sweep and took his knees down into his opponent's chest-only to have the Undertaker grab him by the throat and rise up, completely unharmed. "Hitman caught by the Deadman, and Undertaker with that cold determined look as he presses him into the ropes, choking him out. Paul Bearer urging his man on outside the ring, and Undertaker now whipping Bret Hart into the far ropes; goes into the ropes himself, and a flying tackle! Undertaker with the cover: one, two...Hitman just got the shoulder up in time."

_"Another_ slow count by Stu Hart!" Ventura complained, "I hope this is the last time he referees _any_ match!"

"That count looked perfectly normal to me, Jesse. Undertaker whips the Hitman into the corner, now charges-and Bret slides out of the way in time and tags the Hulkster in! Hulkster picks the Undertaker up, and an atomic drop sends the big guy reeling..."

"But still not off his feet," Heenan gleefully pointed out, "Like Jesse says, you simply cannot hurt this guy."

"Hulk Hogan trying, now going up to the top rope, he jumps...but the Undertaker turns and decks him in the chest on the way down."

"Now if I were Bearer and Jimmy Hart, I'd leave the Phenom in the ring as long as possible here," Ventura suggested, "He doesn't tire as easily as DiBiase would, and the punishment he can inflict on the remaining members of the Mega Powers Team is tremendous."

"A look of concern now on the face of the lovely Elizabeth outside the ring as she tries to goad Hulk Hogan on as he's picked up over the Undertaker's head...and a big body slam on the Hulkster, and another cover: one, two...again just got the shoulder up."

"No he didn't; that WAS a three!" the Body roared at the top of his lungs, "That does it; Stu Hart is just like Joey Marella, in Hogan's back pocket and without any regrets, and he'll happily save Hogan whenever...!"

"Jesse, the shoulder was VERY clearly up there," Monsoon said as calmly as he could, "And I've asked you before to stop criticizing Joey Marella unfairly when he has proven himself to be among the fairest officials here in the WWF."

"I think I know what the problem is," Heenan snatched off Monsoon's glasses and examined them, "Yep, I'm right, Monsoon; you need a new prescription; that's why you're so blind to everything in the ring."

"Give me those!" Monsoon snatched the glasses back and slipped them back on. "Undertaker looking in control now, lifting the Hulkster up and whoa, dropping him hard throat first on the ropes! Now he flings him towards the far...hang on, Hogan grabs the hand and pulls the Deadman forward into the ropes instead, and...look at this, Hogan pulling him backwards off the ropes, and he's got him in a crucifix! Here's the count: one, two, three! And DiBiase's on his own against four other opponents!"

"Sure, because Stu Hart saved Hogan's...!" Ventura bellowed in frustration.

"Don't say it, Jesse, not in front of the kids," Monsoon warned him.

"Well, maybe they'll let him tag Virgil in for fairness," Heenan nervously suggested.

"Not a chance, Brain, and sweating, are we?" Monsoon smirked at him, "What's the matter, too much riding on this match for you? Somebody very powerful not going to be happy if the Million Dollar Team loses?"

"Shut up, you don't know anything, Monsoon!" Heenan barked, sweat pouring down his face. "Come on, Ted; just take them one at a time!" he pleaded the only remaining member of the Million Dollar Team.

"Time perhaps up for the Million Dollar Man, as the Hulkster nailing him with a forearm smash," Monsoon calmly reported the action, "DiBiase looking panicked, and there's no one left for him to tag-and that includes Virgil," he pointed at Heenan as the Brain prepared to press the point again, "DiBiase looking around, trying to figure out where to go from here, and while he does, the champ off the ropes and kicks him hard over the top rope!"

"Tag, tag!" Elizabeth urged Hulk, who indeed hustled over to tag Savage in. "Quick tags from here on," she instructed her team, "Let's keep fresh bodies cycling in."

"OOOOOOh yeah, so let's end it without exerting too much," Savage confidently climbed up to the top rope, ready to elbow drop DiBiase outside the ring, but Virgil quickly stepped in front of his boss to block the Macho Man's path. Undaunted, Savage made his way along the apron, looking for an opening. "Behind! Behind!" the rest of his teammates roared, seeing Jimmy climbing up to the apron, megaphone reared back in his hands for a blow. Savage quickly turned, smacked the megaphone to the floor, and lifted the Mouth of the South, now shrieking, "I WASN'T DOING NOTHING! I WASN'T DOING NOTHING!" at the top of his lungs, over his head and pitched him down on top of Virgil, toppling the bodyguard like a bowling pin. "Savage's path to a dazed Million Dollar Man now unobstructed, and here comes the flying elbow...no, DiBiase wallops him in the chest with Jimmy Hart's megaphone on the way down," Monsoon groaned at the act, "Savage hung over in...and look, here comes Sherri again, and now she's choking the Macho Man out with the TV cable! DiBiase rears back with the megaphone, he's planning a huge blow here...but Savage ducks and he nails Sherri in the face instead!" he roared, as did the entire Saddledome, "Savage kicks the megaphone into the crowd, and now suplexes the Million Dollar Man onto his entourage! Jimmy Hart, Sherri, and Virgil lying groaning on the floor; safe to say they've just been taken out of this match. Savage smashes DiBiase's face into the apron, rolls him into the ring, and now going up to the top rope again, here comes another elbow; yes! Savage over to the corner and tags the Hitman in..."

"Now why didn't he go for the cover right there?" the Body questioned out loud.

"Simple, Jesse; they want to torture Ted, pure and simple," Heenan was sweating even harder now.

"And given what DiBiase appears to have been planning for Owen Hart after the match, who can blame them, really?" Monsoon was grinning now, "Bret Hart with an atomic drop on the Million Dollar Man, sending him stumbling into the ropes; DiBiase frantically looking for an exit, but there's nowhere left for him to run. Hitman whips him into the corner, pauses a minute while DiBiase tries to fake him out, and now the splash. Million Dollar Man flung into the far ropes, and felled with a hard drop kick...!"

"Owen," Bret rushed to the corner and tagged his brother in, "I think the honor of the finish should be yours. Let's show them how well you can do the Hart Attack."

"With pleasure," Owen had a huge smile on his face as he climbed into the ring and waited for his brother to hoist a dazed DiBiase up onto his shoulders. "No, no, no!" Heenan all but shrieked over his headset, "Not the Hart Attack; please God, not the Hart Attack!"

"You betcha Brain, here it comes...Hart Attack!" Monsoon roared with the crowd as Owen rushed the length of the ring, bounced hard off the ropes, and slugged DiBiase hard to the ground. "Take it home, Owen," the Hitman was smiling himself as he climbed out of the ring. "Well, looks like you're MY slave now, Ted," Owen told the Million Dollar Man contemptuously, grabbing his legs, "Say goodnight!"

"Wait, let me explain...!" DiBiase's protest fell on deaf ears, and in seconds he had been twisted into the Sharpshooter to the roar of the crowd. "No, no, no, I'm not giving up!" he defiantly roared to Stu as the referee came over to check, "I won't give up, I won't, I won't!"

"Oh yes you will!" Owen tightened the grip as hard as he could, and within fifteen seconds, a reluctant DiBiase had no choice but to tap out. The Saddledome erupted as the bell rang. "An impressive victory here for the Mega Powers Team!" Monsoon declared, "This place is going bananas! Bret Hart lifting his brother's arm high in celebration, as our cameras get a glimpse of the rest of the Hart family in the front row; they've gone pretty quickly from shock to elation. Both brothers now going outside to get personal congratulations from them, while inside the Mega Powers continue to accept the applause of the crowd. The Hulkster being handed the gold, and raising it high to the fans, while behind him Macho Man once again hoisting Elizabeth up on his shoulders in triumph; she outmanaged everyone on the other team in the end...going so soon, Brain?" he asked Heenan coyly, noticing him sneaking away with a panicked expression, "After all your fuss in getting up here to join in the call...?"

"I, uh, um, important business to take care of, out of town, be back soon, I hope," looking white, Heenan rushed for the exit. "I'm sure you do, Brain," Monsoon shook his head knowingly, "This Survivor Series sure has shaped up to be something very special, and we hope it has added to your enjoyment of this Thanksgiving holiday..."

Outside the ring, Owen's head was sagging as he approached his family. "I, uh," he fumbled for the right words, "I really don't know what to say to you all..."

"What were you thinking, Owen!?" Ellie looked still a bit upset, "You know someone like Ted DiBiase wouldn't care for you; why would you dare to sign with him when...!"

"Ellie, you're not helping," Bret cut her off, "And I think it's Bruce who has something to say first?" he glared his second oldest brother down. Bruce took a deep breath. "I'm...I'm sorry, Owen, I guess I might have gotten a little uptight down in the Dungeon...I guess it's the stress of running Stampede and all..."

"No, no, I'm sorry too; I wasn't thinking," Owen admitted, "They all made me feel like I belonged, and...I don't..."

"Darling," Helen rose up and put her arm around her youngest child, "You'll always belong to us. Even if it doesn't seem like it sometimes, all of us do appreciate you, always."

She gave him a warm hug. "And we couldn't be prouder of you right now," she added warmly.

"Absolutely, Owen," Stu climbed out of the ring and hugged him as well, "I'm glad you were able to come to your senses and..."

"Mr. Hart," Tunney came walking up to Owen as well, "I just want to say, I'm really impressed by what I saw in there tonight. Why didn't you tell me you had another great talent in the family, Stu?" he asked the Hart patriarch.

'Well, you never asked, Jack," Stu admitted modestly.

"Well, I'd say there's probably room for him here in the WWF if he'd be interested in joining," Tunney offered.

"Interested?" Owen's face lit up, "Of course I'd be interested, Mr. Tunney."

"Well then, if you can spare a flight to my office in Stamford, Connecticut next week, I'd be glad to formally sign you up," the WWF president commended him, "And Anvil," he turned to Neidhart in the front row with the Harts, "You're also welcome back any time too if you're interested."

"I think I'm starting to lean towards it now, Mr. Tunney," Neidhart nodded with a grin.

"Well, I look forward to seeing you both soon. And a happy Thanksgiving to you all," Tunney told the Harts with his own smile before walking off down the aisle, after a groaning, pained DiBiase. "What did I tell you?" Bret happily picked Owen up off the ground, "Didn't I always say you were the best one?"

"I guess so," Owen seemed much happier now, "I finally made the big time..."

* * *

><p>"OK, it's rolling," Stu checked the camera on the tripod back in the front parlor of the Hart Mansion. He stepped behind it, trained it on the Boss Man by the wall, and asked, "All right, Mr. Traylor, what are you most thankful for at this time of year?"<p>

"I guess," the Boss Man's face furled, "that I'm thankful that I can stand as a firm symbol of law and order and can show people how to do the right thing."

"And you, Mr. Rousimoff?" Stu turned the camera towards Andre on the far wall.

"I'm thankful for the fans, and the fact I can give them something in this life through wrestling, that I can somehow make a difference through it," the Giant declared.

"Mr. Santana?"

"I'm thankful that through the WWF, I can break down barriers, and blaze a path for other Hispanic wrestlers to take a firm place in American society, and maybe all of my fellow Hispanic émigrés," Tito stated proudly.

"Mr. Steamboat?"

"I'm thankful for family and being able to share the holidays with them," on the sofa, Steamboat cradled his infant son in one arm and pulled Bonnie in for a kiss with the other. "And I'm thankful for Rick's health, and that it's still pretty strong in spite of everything he's been put through," Bonnie confessed, still looking a bit concerned about the Tombstone her husband had taken earlier on.

"Mr. Savage?"

"I'm eternally thankful to have the most beautiful and sweetest woman in the whole wide world at my side," Savage pulled Elizabeth into a kiss of his own in the nearest armchair.

"And I'm thankful for having Randy in turn, and to be able to be a positive manager to all the young fans out there," Elizabeth glanced warmly down at Jade, hugging her idol's leg with wide, adoring eyes.

"And you Mr. Hogan?"

"I'm thankful, Mr. Hart, for having all the Hulkamaniacs out there believing in me, because my title run wouldn't be worth anything if..." Hulk stopped as the doorbell suddenly rang. "Who could that be at eleven thirty at night?" he wondered.

"I have a bad feeling who, Hulk," Davey sighed, trudging to the door from the front hallway, where he, Bret, Neidhart, and Piper had been watching the interviews. "Warrior, have you no respect for...?" he started to protest to the uninvited wrestler again.

"I know Hogan is here now!" the Warrior plowed his way past the Bulldog and into the parlor. "Tonight, Hulk Hogan, I proved my mettle!" he raged at the top of his lungs at the champion, "I stood alone in the ring and..."

"Yeah, and went down to the Honky Tonk Man 1-2-3; I saw the tape," Savage glared at him, "That ain't surviving, bub; that's...!"

"I all but survived, and would have in full if the Honky Tonk Man hadn't cheated at the end!" the Warrior insisted, waving his arms like a windmill, "I think I have earned my position in the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection; I have...!"

"And the answer's still no, wise guy!" Piper upbraided him, "Because we all saw the tape, and saw you showboating in there, leaving your teammates outside whenever possible so you could hog all the glory, and then coming close to cheating a few times yourself! We don't take people like that, period!"

"They cheated more on the Honky Tonk Man's team!" the Warrior loudly attempted to rationalize, "I will show right now if I have to that I have what it takes...!"

"You would?" a grin was crossing Bret's face in the doorway, "Say, Dad, why don't you take the Warrior down to the Dungeon and see what he's got?"

"Oh...oh, it would be a pleasure, Bret," Stu was grinning himself, having picked up on his son's intention, "Come on Warrior, let's see what you've got."

"I shall prove my worth to you, Mr. Hart!" the Warrior insisted grandly, "I will get the word from someone like you that I'm...!"

"I was trying to sleep here!" Dallas ripped him from the other sofa. "I can see why you think he's too abrasive, Dad," he told his father.

"Well now you know, so..." Bret stopped as the phone rang on the nearest stand. "Hello?" he answered it. His face softened into one of relief. "Oh, hi there, honey, is Michelle doing all right?"

"Mommy?" Jade sprung up from her place on the floor. Bret nodded eagerly at her. "Well that's good to hear; I hope she keeps getting better, really I do," he continued to his wife, pulling his kids close when they rushed over, "It was good, yeah, but you missed all the excitement...yeah, we won, and I survived, and it looks like Owen's finally getting his big break...we all missed you, though, and the kids really missed you. They're right here now."

He handed the phone to his daughter, eager to speak with her mother. Hulk exchanged his teammates a knowing grin. "Well, at least it appears there's still hope for them," he remarked.

"I hope so," Andre agreed, "It would be terrible for two small kids like them to have to live through..."

"Hold it, listen," Savage held up his hand. The shrieks of the Warrior being heavily worked over by Stu down in the Dungeon could be heard below them. "That'll hopefully teach that buffoon a thing or two," the Macho Man couldn't help snickering.

"Hey, why aren't we recording this?" the British Bulldog realized, "If we want to shame him the next time he tries to..."

"Say no more," Neidhart quickly grabbed the camera tripod, "Ask and you shall receive."

He laughed hard as he bustled off to the Dungeon steps. "Oh yeah, I love it!" Piper declared happily, "So basically, I'd say it turned out to be a pretty darn good Thanksgiving in the end."

"Well, there's still one thing," Elizabeth pointed out with a frown, "We never did figure out who forged Mr. Hart's named on the foreclosure paper..."

"Well, Elizabeth, by now it really doesn't matter, with Norton going to jail and the form destroyed," Hulk nodded at the Hitman, still chatting with his wife on the phone, "Still, I do wonder myself..."

* * *

><p>"You forged Dad's name, Bruce!?" Wayne was shocked.<p>

"Shhhhhh!" Bruce hissed bustling to the closed door of their father's office to make sure no one was listening in. "Look, it was the only way to keep us afloat," he tried to rationalize to Wayne and Ross, "With the oil money that would have come from drilling this property, we'd've been set for years."

"And why wasn't I told about it, Bruce!?" Ross demanded, "This was kind of under the table...!"

"And it shouldn't have come at the expense of this house!" Wayne gestured wildly at the walls, "If we go to jail for this...!"

"We won't go to jail, guys, not when no one knows who signed the form, and since Bret tore it up, they never will know," Bruce assured the two of them, "And besides, they'd suspect Smith and Dean did it in a money scheme before they ever come after us..."

"Sure, let them take the fall instead; that's just as bad!" Wayne complained, "I mean, I know they're lazy and greedy, but letting them take the fall for us...they're family too, and...!"

"All right, all right, I didn't say they would; no one needs to take the fall for anything now that the situation's over and done with," Bruce protested. He took a deep breath. "Like I said, we're in the clear now that the evidence is destroyed, but we still need some way to keep Stampede afloat now that the oil money's out of the picture."

"Well if it's anything that's just as illegal as name forging, count me out; I want no part of it," Wayne started for the door.

"You can't leave," Bruce grabbed his brother's arm, "You're in it as much as we are now, brother, and if the ship goes down, you'll go down with it. Now do you want that?"

Wayne glared at him, but shook his head. "Right, now," Bruce paced around nervously in a circle, "unless something more positive happens soon, the three of us have about three months to come up with some other way to get another, stronger cash infusion, or Stampede's dead for good..."

THE END...FOR NOW...

NOW, STAY TUNED FOR MORE SURVIVOR SERIES ACTION...


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